Watching Over Each Other
by Xin0Lan
Summary: Despite Sherlock's blindness increasing more severely, he still goes to crime scenes with the faithful doctor, so all appears fine but isn't. It's crucial John must learn to "see" how Sherlock once could. He loathes the black inevitable void and resists all help given- especially detests the white cane. NO Slash/Vulgarity. Happy Ending! BOOK 2 of IN WHOSE EYES?
1. This Ending and This Beginning

**Watching Over Each Other  
**

*_*This story picks up right where "In Whose Eyes?" left off. Think of this chapter as the 'next day' in the end of Chapter 30.**_

_You do Not need to read In Whose Eyes to understand this story. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

The morning light came flooding through the crack between the half-drawn curtains rousing the sleeping men. Today was not a good day for oversleeping, neither men wanted to be late. There would be a lot of grief if they were so.

John stretched and cracked the bones in his spine. Kipping out in his chair was definitely something he would not be doing again anytime soon. "I'm getting far too old for this; I need to sleep in a proper bed and not just flopping down on any random piece of furniture. My neck and back are paying dearly for my laziness." John mumbled to himself.

"I agree, you knew the outcome, but I'm surprised as to why you stayed instead of go up to your room," said the unmistakeable voice filtering out from the blankets piled on the sofa, "It would have been more logical to return upstairs once Mary and Molly went home than stay here in this room. I estimate that about thirty percent of today's conversation from you will some way reflect on your body's pain from not sleeping in its accustomed place. Furthermore, I believe today also will have some very interesting ..."

Sherlock didn't sleep, or at least he didn't think he did. It just so happened that after dinner and playing mindless board games with their friends, he wandered around his Mind Palace carefully filing important information about the past day into their respective Rooms. It was exhausting work so had to take a short break from it. Well, apparently that "short break" turned into all night.

"Yes, thank you Sherlock. I know, my neck is already protesting rather loudly. Trust me, I won't forget this. Please. It's way too early in the morning for this to start. Can't you at least wait till I've had a cuppa before you go off on your ramblings?" John complained massaging his neck as he went to put on the kettle and start breakfast. "Fancy something special to eat this morning, Sherlock?"

Sherlock untangled himself from the mound of blankets and made his way to the window, "No. I ate the other day. Don't you remember how your charming, fiancée and the other two ladies forced some dinner into me last night? They just wouldn't take "No" for an answer. He pouted for a moment letting the sun's rays caress his face. "What time is it?"

Suppose it was just habit that the first thing Sherlock did every morning was too look out and watch London wake up. Ever since a child, Sherlock always looked out the window first thing every single morning. This morning there were people milling around, or rushing off to the office via cab or on foot. John never knew about his habit because the doctor was always up in his room when Sherlock stood at the window or rushing around getting ready for work too busy to notice. "John wouldn't understand, he'd probably laugh at me for being so soft," Sherlock chastised himself. It was a sentimental aspect that he shamefully allowed himself to indulge in. He needed to break that habit; it no longer served any purpose to him. He had been watching London every morning since his arrival to Baker Street years ago to know well the schedule of the people passing by under his window. Watching London wake up was just another thing added to the ever growing list of things he couldn't do that anymore.

Holding his hand out at arms distance the self-proclaimed non-sentimental man could make out a faint outline of it if the room was bright enough. To him, he saw the world as if he had on sunglasses watching an old black and white film on screen in the theatre. It was just enough to distinguish light, darkness, shapes and shadows.

_No point crying over it, I'll just find some new hobbies. I've always wanted to become a beekeeper, I could start researching now for it. It's seems enjoyable and something interesting could come from it._

John suppressed a groan and smart remark about not eating properly and how the human body wasn't designed for not eating. It didn't matter; John would get food into his friend. "Just after half seven. By the way, I hope you do _KNOW_ what today is right?" He said poking his head back in the room to find the consulting detective seated in his chair cradling his violin like a guitar softly play a few random chords.

_How could I ever forget? It is the biggest day in John's life and that means my life too._

"Yes, I remember," he said plainly.

Waiting for the kettle to boil John rummaged around the cupboards looking for something edible and not infected with one of Sherlock's more questionable experiments.

_Today is special, the best day of my life. I will not have him pass out from malnutrition. I will make sure he stands next to me on this important day. Where would I be without him? I don't know honestly. Living off the money from being invalided wouldn't have gotten me much at all. My war wounds might have even progresses worse, who would want to hire me then for anything? A bumbling ex-doctor who stumbles around and can't keep a steady hand. That life seems so depressing; certainly not at all like the exciting life I've had ever since I met him. He cured my wounds and had me trailing after some of the most dangerous men in all of UK. I also wouldn't have met my darling wife-to-be either. I owe him quite a lot, much more than he thinks so._

After much lively discussion and quite some time later, John finally got his flatmate to eat something before going up to dress for the occasion. "Just call me if you need anything, ok?" John called over his shoulder climbing up the steps, he knew today would be wonderful and want his Best Man to enjoy it also.

Sherlock headed to his room and pulled out his "armour". With a sigh he accepted the fact the wedding really was indeed happening, "Right, into battle then," donning on the three-piece suit. _Stupid bow tie! I never wear neckties. Why does having to tie a bow make it so complex!? Ok. That's settled. I'm not wearing it._The frustrated man untied the knot he made and just left the neckwear draped limply over his shoulders.

* * *

"Ready John?" called Sherlock who was holding his violin case across his lap and drumming his fingers on the armrest. "Yes, just give me a moment to get my shoes." Sherlock could hear the nervous groom scuttle around the flat gathering last minuet possession. His wallet. His phone. The boutonnière and pin...  
"Ok. Ready finally. Got everything you need Sherlock?" Came the long-awaited reply. The man nodded and rose clutching the case in his right hand. "Hold up," John brushed his fingers over Sherlock's to let him know where he stood then reached out for the untied bow tie.

"Why is this not tied?"  
"Because it didn't want to be," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.  
"Well that's not going to work. It has to be tied. You're not leaving the flat half dressed. Give me your case and tie it."  
"No."  
"Sherlock," John warned. "Tie it or I will."  
One sighed and the other groaned, yet again another little battle over the most trivial matters.  
"Fine. Just do it." Sherlock snapped.  
With a quick flick of the wrist it into a neat and crisp bow tie.

_New note. Date: Wedding day. Fact: John knows how to tie a bow tie properly. File: John Watson. Folder: Habits and Skills. Saved._

"Now we're both properly ready. Let's go!"

John offered his elbow to Sherlock, to which he took, and followed the groom out the door. _This is it, my final moments of being a bachelor. When I walk through that door again I will be a married man. My beautiful bride on one side and best friend on the other. _

* * *

**A-N: Thanks for reading. I hope I didn't disappoint you with this new story. Any criticism would be lovely. Chapter 2 is almost done.  
**


	2. Wedding Observations and Trifles

**Chapter 2**

* * *

As the men made their way to the venue, the ladies were frantically getting the last minuet touches on their appearance and dress. All over the bridesmaids looked lovely in *lilac*, not purple as Sherlock made sure of telling John the difference when making the arrangements weeks ago.

:-:

"I like the bridesmaids in purple," commented an exhausted  
John who buried his head in his palms. He was more than done looking at wedding arrangements, any distraction would be a welcomed relief.  
"Lilac," came the blunt reply without missing a beat.  
"What? Lilac?" John quirked an eyebrow.  
"This is *your*wedding John, at least keep the details straight. People usually consider the wedding date as an important occasion, right? Your bridesmaids wil be wearing lilac not purple. Do keep that in mind" Sherlock deadpanned.  
"Is there actually a difference? Purple and lilac look the same to me."  
"Don't be so dull John, even I know the difference between lilac and Purple," he sighed. "Obviously they're not the same, or everything with a reddish blue hue would have been named Purple."  
"Yes, Mr. Fashion Designer. Now can we discuss something more interesting than colours? How about a case Sherlock? For me, please." John clasped his hands and begged.  
"Fine," the other man huffed as the withdrew the mobile from his pocket and selected a case involving some dancing men^.

:-:

"We're here, and thankfully still rather early." announced John as he led Sherlock in quietly to the side waiting room. The ride to the venue was mostly silent since neither men were fond of small talk. Sherlock was still having some doubts. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the idea of being Join's Best Man and best friend, but of what would happen once the wedding spirit was gone.

"John. Do stop pacing. You'll put a hole in the carpet. Take a seat. You're distracting me." Sherlock said. He pressed the phone and it spoke the current time. "We still have at least 15 minuets. Why can't you be still? On the ride here you were just as fidgety."

"Sherlock. I'm fine. I'm getting married, remember? Go back to your Mind Palace. Everything will be just fine." John quipped earning him a scowl, but didn't stop pacing. The other man only huffed an annoyed sigh, clearly the Bridegroom wasn't "Fine". There would be a lot of categorising on the days events, best to not let it gather until the evening.

_New Note. Date: Wedding Day Waiting Room. Fact: John is nervous and stressed. Denys it. Displays erratic and unusual behaviour. Require more observation. File: John Watson. Folder: Behaviours. Saved._

At last the precious moment came, the two anxious men stood into their proper places waiting for the cue to start the ceremony.  
Sherlock didn't quite understand his best friend's behaviour today at all, but the time spent going around in his Mind Palace solidified his feelings for the occasion. He would be happy about it. _John is thrilled so that makes me glad for him._

* * *

Mary Morstan stood by her wonderful and loving Doctor John Hamish Watson before everyone and together they declared the vows to each other. It was a lovely ceremony and reception. Well, considering Sherlock's presence there made the definition of "lovely" a bit skewed. Naturally as expected. Of course Doctor and Mrs. Watson enjoyed their time chatting with the guests over mindless matters on the weather or decoration of the reception. Sherlock, on the other hand, took it upon himself to involve the audience in a rather unusual Best Man Speech filled with many unnecessary details about the gruesome cases John and he had solved together in the past. Despite the awkwardness in Sherlock's recantation of the case involving an elephant in the room or the dwarf assassin with an impeccable aim with the poisonous blow darts, it was considerably a good speech that wasn't too mushy with sentimental feelings or too filled with guts and gore. Besides, Sherlock never was one for having many feelings.

A tearful crowd threw the consulting detective into a little confusion. Wedding were not his forte, especially not giving Best Man Speeches. Everyone thought he did well, John especially so, except one.

Molly brought her snobbish date that was too full of himself and "his" clever deductions involving a preposterous "meat dagger theory" during Sherlock's speech.

_Molly you're far too intelligent for a boring bloke like him, what convinced you to ever go out on a date with him? What is he to you? He's nothing compared to what you are, not even half of you can measure up to him._

"Honestly! Has he surpassed Anderson in dropping the IQ level of the whole human population? I never thought that was even possible." Sherlock wondered incredulously. That insolent beau had a name possibly starting with T, but the trivial information never made it in to the consulting detective's memory. It just wasn't worthy enough.

_What was it? Timothy? Tom? Must be something like that._

Sherlock was pacing up and down the pathway between the tables carefully counting his steps, yet continuing in his rambling about the case and the wonders of how brilliant John was. The groom never knew his best friend could speak that eloquently. It was Sherlock's way of complimenting his doctor, friend, and blogger to the highest degree known to him. John felt honoured to have such a good friend. One who save him from living a dull and unsatisfying life.

Only a tiny handful of people knew about the rapid progression of the consulting detective's condition, and he indeed tend to keep it that way, but thanks to that insolent fool's inconsideration the cover was blown instantly. His only hope rested in the fact that most people did not observe like he did and wouldn't notice his lack of focus on any single object in front of him, thus not realising his lack of adequate sight. That fool didn't know a thing about Sherlock except wanting to get back at the Best Man for embarrassing him and his "brilliant" Meat Dagger Theory, but things didn't turn out that expected for either person.

_When does it ever turn out as expected?_

As he was going off in a huff after being insulted, Tom violently kicked back the chair when he stood and attempted to storm out, but barrelled straight into the taller man which threw them both off balance causing Sherlock to trip over the tipped chair. He landed with a painful hard smack on the cold hard floor.

"Sherlock!" Molly and John flew to his side in an instant pushing over a gawping Tom.

* * *

**A-N: Thanks for reading. F F N was not acting right for a few days so it wouldn't let me upload to Doc Manager hence the delay in posting. Any criticism or comments would be lovely. Ta!**

**^There is a case called Dancing Men. I suggest you read it, it is very interesting. **

**FYI: The semester is nearly over, I have term exams very soon-far too soon for my liking, thus I will not have time to write/post the third chapter until sometime mid next week. After that chapters will be more regular. **

**:) **


	3. The Spectacle of Tomfoolery

**Watching Over Each Other **

** Chapter 3**

* * *

As he was going off in a huff after being insulted, Tom violently kicked back the chair when he stood and attempted to storm out, but barrelled straight into the taller man which threw them both off balance causing Sherlock to trip over the tipped chair. He landed with a painful smack on the cold hard floor.

"Sherlock!" Molly and John flew to his side in an instant pushing over a gawping Tom.

The whole room froze and every pair of eyes was pinned on Tom. Lestrade's death glare on that insufferable fool spoke: "If you dare move a muscle, you DO NOT want to know what will happen." It was a good thing the unintelligent lad didn't see Mrs. Hudson's expression because if he had, then should the ground to just swallow him right then a there would have been a much-welcomed relief.

:-:

"Sherlock! Wake up! Are you ok?" Molly's frantic pleas echoed the silent room as Doctor Watson examined his unconscious patient. Becoming conscious again, Sherlock saw the silhouette his pathologist kneeling over him with the skirt of her dress puffed out like a parachute. He couldn't help but have a small smile on his face. Waking up to see her first was something Sherlock filed away as "bit very good." Fortunately, the treatment for the injuries only consisted of rest and some cold packs to help with the bruising.

She was relieved. Her smile radiated making her bright yellow dress seem insignificant to it. He knew she was smiling by the way she breathed even though it wasn't a clear image to him. It required too much effort to take that smile off his face so he let it stay. For this one instance he allowed sentiment to play a tiny part in his behaviour. Molly took his hand, and he instinctively closed his long fingers around hers. "Molly? John?" called the injured one as he felt his doctor palpate his shin noting the placement of the swollen points.

"Yes, it's us Sherlock. How do you feel? Your head?" Doctor Watson asked cupping the man's face in his hands bringing it a bit closer to his own. Sherlock only shrugged, but it was beating out a battle chant inside. John didn't need to know that though, it would ruin his wedding even more than it already has. "Open your eyes wide and look straight, yes good, and straight into my eyes. Good. I need to make sure you're not concussed too badly," he ordered using his patient-friendly voice. "Good, no serious damage," he vaguely heard John mumble whilst trying to block out all the noise. _People were shouting at each other, or maybe to him? He wasn't too sure. People were rustling about and those awful plastic chairs made a horrible screeching sound as they dragged across the floor._

It was damaging to his Mind Palace, this small tumble threw a few temporary fact files out of place. All the chaos only made it hard to refile everything back into their proper places. Molly noticed he visibly cringed at the level of noise, so gave his hand a slight squeeze. "Sherlock," she deftly whispered in his ear without drawing attention, "Listen to me, okay? Ignore the noise. You're got the wind knocked out of you when the two of you collided. You'll be fine soon. John's coming out of his doctor-mode in a moment," Sherlock subconsciously relaxed his grip on her hand, "Good, that's good," she said. "Stay still," Doctor Watson ordered. "Floor was obviously made for treading on, and not testing the gravity with. I refuse to stay in the floor. I'm well enough to stand," Sherlock murmured under his breath.

:-:

Sherlock didn't do as he was told. If his head didn't hurt so much he would have stalked away in shame and embarrassment, but merely brushed John's hands away, stood up, and scanned the room slowly. It was a headache, there had been worse things he'd been subjected to, "I'm fine!" he grumbled gruffly to the two. Calling louder he asked, "Where is that insolent child named Tom? I wasn't done with him. Did he forget all the manners his aunt, who by the way has five cats, secretly likes to wear pink frilly dresses with sequinned puffed sleeves, taught him about never leaving until dismissed? That is to say if he ever even had manners to begin with, which he had, but only a select few."

Tom hung his head in low trying to hide the redness creeping over his cheeks and neck slowly backing up from the towering angry mass coming close to him. Unbeknownst to the boy, Lestrade had snuck up behind and put his hand out to touch his back, keeping him from moving anymore. Given Sherlock's tall stature, he did prove to be on the more intimidating side of the spectrum. A tall scary man on one end and The Law on the other was not a good mix.

"Tom," Sherlock leaned forward and growled, "Take a seat. I don't imagine you going anywhere soon." Sherlock gestured as Molly righted the chair and planted it in the front of the room. All the guests were eagerly anticipating what would continue on from this "Meat Dagger Theory Discussion." Tom stood there trying to process everything that had happened in a mere few minutes. One moment he was stalking off, the next everyone seemed to hate on him. It wasn't like he planned on running into the man, it just happened. "He should have just accepted my theory, it was brilliant. Besides, he couldn't even solve it," reasoned Tom foolishly in his mind.

"Sit down!" Captain Watson commanded to the insubordinate disrespectful child as he marched up to him. He obeyed at once. He sat straight and at attention, not daring to cross the wrath of the military commander any further.

"At least the boy is smart enough not to pick another fight now," the soldier smirked to himself.

:-:

Discreetly Molly snagged Sherlock's jacket cuff, leading him along as she stomped up to the trembling bundle of nerves. "YOU are in so much trouble, more than you can ever imagine," she jabbed a finger in his petrified face, "Fire away, Sherlock. He's all yours," Molly said whilst shooting daggers at Tom. He would pay dearly for hurting her friend. Very dearly_. No one hurts my friends and leaves free of charge, when Sherlock is done stripping him to a pile of bones I'll finish up with my own special touches.  
_

"With pleasure," came a voice filled with excitement and a small clap of his hands. Molly stifled a snigger seeing his Grinch-like happy face expression, it was creepily scary. _Serves Tom every right to terrified of the tall man. _

Placing his hand behind his back and stooping over, the detective walked in slow circles around Tom, just as if he were a vulture preying on a wounded prey waiting for it to be dead. Tom would be figuratively "dead" in a matter of seconds and ripped to shreds. With Sherlock's quick tongued deductions, Tom visibly sunk lower and lower into the chair. There was no way out of anything once Sherlock had started speaking. He opened and closed his mouth a few time trying to interject, but was quickly cut off by the consulting detective.

"I suggest you don't open your mouth again. Every time I hear you smack your lips I cringe. It's a dreadful sound and I'm sure breathing like a fish isn't attractive at all especially if you're planning on keeping a girl, that is. Considering your history with girlfriends, countless of them might I add. There have been at least 7 if not of more, try to work on your mannerisms? It would help tremendously in keeping any sort of person at your side for longer than ten minutes. I would estimate a 95% chance of your next female friend staying with you for exactly five days before she realises what an unintelligent being you are, given the fact she probably wouldn't even score high on intelligence levels. Speaking on all that, what do you have to say about Ms. Hooper? It's clearly obvious you two met through mutual friends, but surely there were some women that were more suited to your brainwave activity. It baffles me on how you can even comprehend a simple conversation with Ms. Hooper. Her dullest conversations would have your head spinning, no doubt. You are not worthy to converse with her."

Upon hearing those words, Molly dipped her head squeezed herself more into the wall, hoping to become part of it praying her face would stop turning hotter and hotter. _I never knew Sherlock could say such nice things since he always says such horrible things about everyone, well except John. _

Finding the courage to look up at the consulting detective and Tom again, she was relieved to see the pathetic mass walk with a dazed look out of the room, whilst John rose from his place at the table and collected his Best Man from the middle of the room, cleverly hiding the motive from the guests with a manly handshake and pat on the back, "Thanks mate, you're the best."

Everyone was happy. Sherlock wasn't hurt too badly, Molly's self-confidence sky-rocketed, and John was happy everything ended well.

The only thing left was the dancing; the Watsons hoped it too would run without a hitch.

* * *

**A-N: Hello my lovelies again. As noted previously, I am in the middle of preparing for my Final Exams. Every time I would become overwhelmed with revising, I'd come a write a bit. Sorry for the delay in updates, but after this coming week I will be finished with my courses! Yea! More time to write. **

**As always, any comments you write are greatly appreciated. Ta!**

**XinLan**


	4. Estella, Sauvignon blanc, and Dancing

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Upon hearing those words, Molly dipped her head squeezed herself more into the wall, hoping to become part of it praying her face would stop turning hotter and hotter. I never knew Sherlock could say such nice things since he always says such horrible things about everyone, well except John.

Finding the courage to look up at the consulting detective and Tom again, she was relieved to see the pathetic mass walk with a dazed look out of the room, whilst John rose from his place at the table and collected his Best Man from the middle of the room, cleverly hiding the motive from the guests with a manly handshake and pat on the back, "Thanks mate, you're the best."

Everyone was happy. Sherlock wasn't hurt too badly, Molly's self-confidence sky-rocketed, and John was happy everything ended well.

The only thing left was the dancing; the Watsons hoped it too would run without a hitch.

The evening part of the wedding reception started off well with some nice background music filling the air as guests wandered around engaging in idle chatter or giving well wishes to the happy couple. Since Tom had left the luncheon humiliated, Molly was absolutely certain he wouldn't return and she wouldn't go after him. He got what he deserved for acting like that in public, and of all places, a wedding! Now that she was unattached, her brain kept pestering her to stay next to the lonely Sherlock. "Go make sure he's alright, after all the man is suffering the after effects of a concussion. He should be monitored; John's too busy being part of his wedding to play Doctor. Go! Talk to him, he's lonely." her mind pushed her into seeking out Sherlock's company.

Succumbing to her subconscious thoughts, Molly made her way to where he was standing against the wall away from the crowds. "Hey, Sherlock," Molly placed her hand lightly on his for a moment, "How is your head feeling?" The man only gave a noncommittal humph and shrugged, his personal health wasn't worth a conversation. That would be "oh so dull and ordinary." Undeterred she pressed on, "what are you doing standing in the corner here doing nothing? Do you want a drink?"

"Ah, Molly," he replied catching her hand before she moved it away, "I suppose I will have one. That's what people do at weddings, don't they? Eat, drink, and dance?"

"Yes Sherlock, and you're going to be part of it. Come on, let's get a glass. This is John and Mary's night, they would want us to enjoy ourselves." His pathologist looped her arm around his elbow and together they strode over to the drinks. "Here, drink up." Molly placed a glass in his hand. At one sniff he knew it was The White Wine, the one he secretly liked best out of the other choices Mary had listed during the reception planning. He didn't care much for alcohol, but a small quantity on the rare occasion pleased him, especially when the wine tasted good. _Especially when it was His wine. _

"You're certainly enjoying the drink, you help with the wine selection, didn't you?" Molly commented watching his expression soften as he took the second small sip. "Yes, John needed another opinion since he's not into the peculiarities of different wines. Tedious really, it's all a matter of opinion whether one prefers red or white and dry or sweet. Why do you ask?"

Molly stared into her drink for a moment before replying, "because this is the same wine we drank at your flat that one year at holiday season." Sherlock turned and faced her, those words he would have least expected to come from her lips. "And," he gestured with his hand. "And when Tom came over, and the night of the engagement party. I know this brand is your favourite Sherlock. John's not into wine tasting but you are, and I always know you pick the same one. The same sauvignon blanc. Same year too."

_How did Molly know that!? Mycroft doesn't even know, and he was the one who introduced me to my first glass of the Sauvignon blanc at our parent's anniversary. It was a tolerable gathering with a minimal guest list. Yes that is my favourite drink because it it dry and not at all over bearing like most other wines. Why would Molly remember such details, such trivial details?_

_New note. Date: Wedding Night Reception. Fact: Molly remembers the different occasions I have drunk my favourite white wine and the year too-Sauvignon blanc. File: Molly Hooper. Folder: Habits and Skills. Saved._

"Molly, how did..." The confused consulting detective started but was cut off, "Don't ask me now Sherlock. Just know I'm not like you observing and deductions, but I do pay attention to details. Forget about it and enjoy the wine."

"I must do something," Sherlock suddenly spoke surprising his pathologist, "I must speak with the deejay. Come please." Sherlock offered his arm just as a gentleman would, it was John's night so good behaviours might grant him more privileges for experimenting in the flat with strange specimens, well stranger ones at least.

Molly happily took his arm again and went with the man. She was curious as to why Sherlock would want to speak with him, deejays weren't on his lists of people to chat with. Sometimes she thought the man only opened hints mouth to insult someone, like he did with Tom...well that was understandable. Usually Sherlock would get someone else on work for him...sometimes he was too much like his brother Mycroft. Those two childish brothers would let everything in the world happen before acknowledging they were, in fact, very alike in mannerism. Demanding everything, but never actually doing it himself...

"Ladies and gentlemen, could I have your attention please," Sherlock announced, "I have something to very important to say...A vow...I have never said one and never plan to again..." Molly stood against the wall listening intently to Sherlock's heart speak, not just his mouth. Her concentration didn't falter a second as the talented musician tucked his Estella^^ under his chin and let her sing. It was an enchanting moment, almost calling it "magical" wouldn't be far from the truth. The guest stood in awe as the newly weds glided across the floor to the self-composed waltz by the one and only.

As Sherlock poured his emotions into Estella's voice, Molly couldn't help but think about the lies people spread about that genius.

_Everyone knew Sherlock as cold and stoic. He is without the capability of showing emotion. Everyone saw that side of him, but few people have ever heard him showcase his musical talent. Music is what feelings sound like. How wrong everyone is, they shouldn't be so quick to judge. "That Freak" or " The Psychopath" does have a heart, probably more than they themselves have. _

Estella's voice hung in the air long after John dipped his wife and kissed her. As the guests applauded, the musician quietly slipped behind the deejay and packed his beloved Star safely away. Taking the first empty chair closest to the sound stage, Sherlock glued himself there effectively blocking out the horrid "modern" music whilst refilling those loose folders.

Just as predicted, a yellow bubble floated closer and closer to him taking his hand pulling him upright. "Molly," he protested, "what are you doing? I'm busy." He tried to pull his hand away and sit, but the determined young lady held her ground. "Sherlock, this is a wedding. This is John and Mary's wedding night, please make it enjoyable for everyone, including yourself. Don't just sit there, come dance with me."

"No."

"Please, just one dance. Listen, this is one you know how to dance to. For me?"

"Fine. Just this one." He gritted his teeth as he let himself be dragged on the dance floor. "I'm going to regret this," he mumbled. "No you won't, you'll thank me." Molly countered. He huffed an annoyed sigh and took his position.

They were just about to start, "But this won't work," Sherlock forced out from his unhappy expression. He dropped his hands and backed away from his dance partner, " In case you've forgotten, let me refresh your memory. I can barely see my own hand right in front of my face. I need to see where I'm going if I'm going to lead. Go find someone who can see properly to dance with you, I'm going back to my seat."

She gripped his wrist firmly, "Stay. Don't be silly Sherlock, I haven't forgotten. You can still lead. Don't worry, I won't let anyone run into us or we into them." Another annoyed sigh escaped his lips as he conceded, so taking her hands again they assume the beginning position waiting for the next downbeat.

Spinning his pathologist round and round the floor made him dizzy, but he didn't care. A passion for dancing was a well-guarded secret of his. Dancing with Molly was fun, she was right- I will thank her for dragging me on the dance floor.

_New note. Date: Wedding Night Reception. Fact: Molly can dance well. She's not the best, but knows quite a bit of many different styles. File: Molly Hooper. Folder: Habits and Skills. Saved_

As they danced Molly nibbled on her lip and thought, "How could I ever forget such a thing? It's a monumental change, but that doesn't mean every single thing has to change drastically- only some."

Not only did the two dance that one song, they also stayed for the next three songs of which the third was a slow dance.

As the third songs's melody progressed Molly slowly tipped her head closer and closer to Sherlock's shoulder.

"See, I told you this would be alright," she whispered, "You dance really well, far better than I do. Where did you learn to dance?"

"No Molly I don't see," he answered good-humouredly and guiltily allowing himself to take in her sweet lotion scent, "yes this is enjoyable. I don't even recall the last time I had done so. Must have been some pompous political gathering Mycroft forced me to attend so deleted it." He scoffed and shuddered at that vague memory. "I was taught early on, actually both of us were. I didn't mind it much, there were many good results from those dancing experiment such as..."

:-:

The two unattached ones stood side by side all night long. Dancing brought his spirits up considerably and even engaged in some civil ad sensible discussion about chemical compositions of some obscure element. Molly was cognisant of Sherlock unsaid wish to appear, as he commonly states "perfectly fine", but was in fact doing his best in ignoring an incessant pounding on his brain.

Ever the tough one you always have to be Sherlock. It's alright to say "I'm not fine." You've got friends that are more than willing to catch you before you stumble.

Little did either know that the Watsons were keeping their watchful eyes on the two all evening. Mary knew enough about Molly to know that petite lady could reign in the man-child's temper with a single word. She made a mental note to get some tips from her, since living in the flat above him would prove to be a test of her patience and kindness. John was grateful for Molly's presence with Sherlock. She kept him company and from doing something that might scare the guest away.

All in all the night ended splendidly, even a short stroll was thrown in down to the verandah with the four friends chatting away about the day when the guests started to trickle away.

:-:

**A-N: Thanks for reading! Summer has come at last! There will be more frequent updates, well, that's at least what I'm planning on.**

** Any comments would be lovely, just like always. :) **

**^^Please read "A Heart One Would Never Expect", Estella is explained in more detail as the main idea. **

****This is Platonic 'Sherlolly' only! Perhaps once this story is finished, I will write a Romantic 'Sherlolly', but not in this one.****


	5. On this Isle

**Chapter 5**

* * *

_All in all the night ended splendidly, even a short stroll was thrown in down to the verandah with the four friends chatting away about the day when the guests started to trickle away._

* * *

The Watson's honeymoon was Mycroft's gift to them. He had all the arrangements made from flight tickets and to dining locations, so the newlywed only had to show up at the proper time in the proper attire. The lovebirds were spending a lovely week on the Emerald Isle taking in the best of nature and culture. Neither one wanted to leave the beautiful place and hurl themselves headlong into the rat-race of daily living. Well, that thought was a week away. They couldn't be bothered with it now, and couldn't be bothered with any other cares in the world except each other. The world would have to be patient for just seven days.

On arriving the first day, there the two spent time wandering around as tourists visiting the popular areas. A good bit of the memory space on the camera was gone by sunset. It was replaced with memorable moments of breath-taking scenery, romantic kisses frozen in time , or "silly selfies" (with more of the latter ones on the memory card than decent normal smiling photos).

On the second day, the two decided for a nice relaxing day at the park and picnic. Mary sighed contently and nuzzled against her doctor's warm embrace wrapped around her shoulders as they walked the trail hand in hand. "I don't want this to end. Can we just stay on cloud-9 forever?"

"Mary dear, I'm always on cloud-9 because I have you. You are my cloud-9." John responded kissing her hand. She blushed and pecked his cheek.

Then suddenly a rainbow fluttered in the corner of her eye.

"Look!" Mary gasped in delight and pointed. "The bird! Isn't it beautiful? Those wings!"

"Kind of. It's nice, but I think you are beautiful." John countered wearing a childish grin.

Mary swatted his cheek playfully, "Stop it. You're acting so silly."

John pouted, "What?! Can't I tell my sweet wife how stunning she is?"

An older couple just happened upon them as John spoke, the older quipped causing the younger to turn a bit pink, "Course ye can, young man. You tell her every day. Don't ever forget it. My Lovely here has heard it every single day for the past sixty-five years. Today marks the sixty-sixth and the day of our great-granddaughter's arrival." He gave her a kiss, "What about you two, what's your story?"

Mary chimed in as John worked hard on turning back to a normal shade of natural skin tone pink, "Splendid, you must be so proud. We two? I think I've been called "Beautiful", "Wonderful", or some variation of it more than sixty-six times in the last two days that we've officially been together. "

"Oh. What a dear! You hear that hun?" the wife poked her husband good-naturally. "Congratulations! That was one special date, wasn't it? The dress, reception, and dancing." The wife took Mary's hand and squeezed it. "You've got a good man as your husband. Turning to John she continued, "Live long and prosper. May you two celebrate that date for many more decades. Enjoy the trail, there's a breath-taking view further up those steps!"

The two families parted ways with each one of them having their spirits lifted at the little reminder of there is still such a thing called "happily ever after." Not wanting the joyful feeling to leave Mary asked softly, "What do you think of that, dear doctor? That lovely couple with a large family. Where do you think we'll be sixty years from now?"

"I don't know," John mused for a moment taking in the serene ambiance, "But I do know I want our life to be like theirs. Full of adventure. Being happy together. Besides, I'd love to be there for our great-granddaughter's baby being born."

"So do I... our great-granddaughter's child...hmmm, what do you think the baby will look like?" She took her husband hand and wrapped her other arm around as they sauntered through the trees and bushes up to the place with the gorgeous view. They made their way to the special spot the older couple had pointed out earlier and decided to take lunch on the grass there.

* * *

The day before their expected departure, the Watsons visited the ocean in the morning, and had private fine dinning in the evening at the luxurious restaurant graciously provided by Mycroft. Their table was located on the rooftop with little diamonds glittering above them on a black curtain and three little flames complimenting the twinkling jewels.

His Mary wore a medium-sized sapphire heart looped in the chain complimenting her floor-length dress of the same colour dusted in sparkles and hemmed ruffles. Her John looked handsome in his white-tie three-piece lent by none other than the one and only who thrived in the expensive bubble. The seafood dinner was heavenly, savouring each bite as if it were their last. Who knew if they would ever each such fine food again in such an exquisite place?

* * *

During their brief absence, Molly promised John she would to go by Sherlock's flat every day after work, and make sure he was still taking care of himself. Like any sensible adult would. But as one who didn't need constant reminding. But of course he wasn't sensible. Sensible was the last thing to ever expect from the man-child.

_Sometimes I think he would be two seconds away from death by exhaustion and starvation before he would bother about it._

"Sherlock? I'm here. Where are you?" Molly called out not bothering to hide the exasperation in her voice. It was Day Four of checking up on her friend. He found answering when being summoned too dull and ordinary for his liking.

No response.

_Typical. Sometimes I despise him and other times I think he's the greatest person ever. _

"Sherlock! Answer me! I don't have time for games." Molly grew more and more impatient with the childish daily Hide-and-Seek game.

_Still no response. _

By the fifth or six time Molly called out whilst searching the flat and speaking with Mrs. Hudson, her annoyance had turned in desperation.

"Sherlock dear, please come out of hiding and answer us," Mother Hen beckoned her tenant.

Again, the only answer was Faithful Silence.

The two women paced the space between the stairs leading to 221B.

"Where do you think he's gone? He just finished solving a case at the wedding, so he shouldn't have anywhere to be. It was made very clear that only archived cases were acceptable to give him." Mrs. Hudson shrugged and patted Molly's hand, "I don't know honey, do you think we should call Lestrade? He might know. Maybe they're together at NSY doing...well...whatever they do down there with their detective work. "

At the suggestion, Molly immediately dug the mobile out from her bag and speed-dialled Lestrade. Whilst the mobile rang, Mrs. Hudson went for her landline and dialled Sherlock's, hoping one of them would have success.

"Oh! Finally. Hello Lestrade, this is Molly. Do you know where Sherlock is? He's not at home, is he with you at the Yard?"

"What!? Oh, this not good, not good at all. He can't just wander off without telling anyone," Molly looked over to the land-lady who shook her head indicating Sherlock didn't answer. Lines of worry grew distinct on the sweet lady's expression. Molly gave a sad smile to her before returning to the DI, "We're not like John, who can figure out where he is in an instant. Mrs. Hudson phoned his mobile but he didn't answer. Do you have any ideas of where he might be? Any?"

* * *

**A-N: Sorry for the delay, but I had a hard time trying to plan the storyline. Hope you enjoyed it. Sorry for the rubbish ending, but I couldn't find a proper place to break the train of thought, except here. Update for the next chapter will be faster since I have a good portion of it written. **

**Sherlock is being his annoying little self (as usual) and will return to the flat in one piece.**

**Comments/Follows/Favourites are greatly appreciated! **

**:)**


	6. An Interesting Afternoon Outing

**This addition was inspired by the lovely comments and messages left by some amazing readers: _[AJP910]_ and _[paula. a. rushing]_ Thank you both! **

I just so happened to have a small about of time to write this bit, unlike usually when I'm otherwise engaged.

* * *

**Short Addendum to Chapter 5**

**Sherlock's Point of View**

* * *

Sherlock was bored out of his mind, John-his personal entertainment system- was away and would stay away for another three miserable days. "I can't sulk here forever. I've done enough of that- it's too dull and ordinary. All useful files in my Mind Palace have been reorganised and refiled away in perfect order. John's hid his gun *again*! Ugh! I need some stimulant! No, I promised him cold turkey on the bad habit. _Why did I promise that?!_ Mrs. Hudson took my skull *again* as punishment for ruining her drapes with corrosives. I said I was sorry twice and mentioned a nice experiment with the fabric, that's what people do right? I'm tired of playing Estella. My left arm hurts from bowing. My fingers hurt…fingers… FINGERS! That's it!"

Sherlock leapt up from his sprawled out state on the settee and dashed for his coat and scarf carefully minding the pile of books and papers scattered on the rug.

As soon as the eager consulting detective flung the front door open a random surge of strong gusts of wind bit his face making it hard for him to flag down a cabbie.

_Why did cabs have to be all black? Black blends in with everything here! Why couldn't they have been fashioned like the New York taxies? YELLOW and BLACK? Mostly yellow, not black. It would make these cabs so much easier to spot amidst a sea of traffic. Make it so much easier for me too! Mycroft is SO inconsiderate, well, I guess some things don't ever change. _

He growled in frustration.

Catching his tongue quickly, Sherlock swallowed several choice adjectives. He refused to succumb to his emotions or resorting to vulgarity when regarding his failing sight. Whining and carrying on a fit about it wouldn't change a thing, so it was just a waste of energy really...dull and ordinary.

At last a cab answered his hand, but getting in was a slight problem. Again Sherlock's mind harassed the poor cars, "Cabs shouldn't be black! At least make the handles yellow or white or something! Make things easier for everyone." Groping around for the handle brought the man's confidence level down a couple notches even though the ones passing by didn't notice at all. "St. Barts please," he demanded politely to the cabbie. During the ride there, Sherlock's nimble long bony fingers never left the door latch. He certainly didn't want a repeat of earlier. "Here you are chap," announced the driver pulling Sherlock out of his pouting mind.

The good cabbie unknowingly "saved him face" by making it easy for the money exchange to happen without blowing his cover. The last thing Sherlock wanted was someone's sympathy or pity. He loathed it. It disgusted him. People had better things to do than concern themselves with his well-being. Blindness was nothing significant to him, sure it meant a drastic change-but not everything.

Sherlock allowed himself to muse on his condition as he headed for the morgue, "Obviously the term blindness means I lack sight, even Anderson knows what that means... or at least I hope he does... That man shocks me more and more every single time we meet. It truly is a wonder how he even functions working for the Yard."

Standing in front of the morgue door, Sherlock reached out for the handle only to painfully smack his knuckle against the glass.

_Ugh! Again?! Door are my enemy. Mycroft my arch-enemy, but Doors seems to be working its way up that proverbial ladder. _

"Molly?" Called out the detective through the door, which just so happened to be locked, "Open the door please. I need my finger experiment and the solution, and you promised me more cadavers. I'm expecting them. Molly! Where are you? I need you to read me the results AND open this door! Molly!" He gave up after pounding on the door a few more times, and headed back the way he came taking the lift instead of the stairs like the first time.

_Mental note: Avoid Stairs. They are also The Enemy. _

Pacing around the tiny cubicle, Sherlock shouted abuse to the machine, "Today just isn't my day for anything to go right, is it? First the annoying black cabs, then frustrating doors, and now stairs! You! Lift Better not malfunction," he emphasised with a jab on the floor number buttons, "I'm trusting you to get me to the ground floor in one piece, I have things to do. Can't be bothered with something so mundane as a lift malfunction."

* * *

For a man whose sight was greatly reduced to a mere collage of cracked of stain glass chips, Sherlock prided himself in mostly managing the chaos of pedestrians and light poles without tripping or bumping into things. There were a couple times he misjudged the kerb distance or faltered in his step over an uneven part of the pavement. Otherwise, his long confident strides did considerably to his advantage, people shied away from his path. His Mind Palace immediately pulled up a layout of his area mapping out the fastest and safest way to the book store. It wasn't too far and he really was trying the whole black cab business, besides walking gave him an opportunity to update his internal map.

_Right, forty-two steps from hospital to the first intersection. The light change should happen in about 3 seconds, unless Mycroft poked his nose where it shouldn't have been in._

_Good, only thirty-six steps from intersection to the other side with the warning signal happened half way through crossing._

Such mental notes were carefully saved in their own Mind Palace folders labelled "Useful Information"

* * *

"Again with the doors!" Sherlock kicked the door twice on purpose before finally opening it. He had a layout of this place carefully tucked away in his massive memory storage. It was a haven for him on many occasions in the past. When he needed to get away from the world this is where he sought refuge. No one ever remembers book-stores, they're too busy thinking about the obvious places like the park.

Making his way to the back of the room, Sherlock found the store owner and asked for his help. He didn't mind asking for help, but felt strange doing so.

"Ah! Sherlock! Good to see you again. How have you been?" his voice echoed off the walls.

"I'm fine," Sherlock dead-panned, "I'm here for some very specific material."

"Anything for my favourite person. What can I help you with?" The store keeper clapped his hand on the taller man causing him to jump back a little at the unexpected touch. "I'm here for some information on reading Braille," he sated flatly.

"Well, it's not everyday you hear that. Is this for one of your cases or something?"

"No. I know someone that's all," Sherlock turned his head signalling the discussion was closed.

"Right, just follow me then." The keeper led him to a nice selection of material in the book store's storage room.

After a few minuets of browsing through the selection, Sherlock left the store pleased with the materials he bought and headed home eager to explore their content.

* * *

**A-N: I hope you enjoyed this little bit. **

**Comment, Favourites, Follows are always the highlights of my day.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**[[As a side note, I do try my best to avoid writing cliff hangers. I think they're quite cruel in coercing a reader to keep reading. They should be interested in the story enough to keep reading, rather than the storyline making them.]]**

**Cheers!**


	7. This is Y-E-S

**Chapter 6**

* * *

_"What!? Oh, this not good, not good at all. He can't just wander off without telling anyone," Molly looked over to the land-lady who shook her head indicating Sherlock didn't answer. Lines of worry grew distinct on the sweet lady's expression. Molly gave a sad smile to her before returning to the DI, "We're not like John, who can figure out where he is in an instant. Mrs. Hudson phoned his mobile but he didn't answer. Do you have any ideas of where he might be? Any?"_

* * *

Leave it to Chance for the three said people to keep missing each other on the street simply arriving a moment after the other person had left.

Molly decided on walking through the nearby streets asking around if anyone had seen Sherlock pass by whilst Mrs. Hudson would wait at home in case he decided to show up there. Lestrade wandered around the area close to the Yard for a bit before heading to St. Barts to continue his search.

_Surely people couldn't miss him. Tall with dark hair and his signature Belstaff billowing behind him. How does a person not remember a bloke with those features?_

At last Sherlock returned home to the wonderful sound of Mother Hen pecking his cheek then immediately threatening him with severe consequences, "Hello Sherlock dear, how lovely of you to come. Stand right there and don't move a muscle. I will be right back. I mean it young man. You. Stay. Here." She emphasised the "here" with a snap of her heel on the wooden floor. Immediately she dialled the other two, who arrived at her front door minutes later, then returned to her young tenant stranded in the hallway.

"Sherlock! Where in the world have you been?" Mother Hudson took the bag out from her son's hand and gave the hand a hard smack. "You had us all worried, especially Molly-who was expecting you to be home when she came. What do you have to say for yourself? Hmm? You should be ashamed of your behaviour!" The hand received another beating. "Just go about gallivanting clear all over the city without bothering about those who care for you. You just don't do things like that to your friends Sherlock. For crying out loud, you didn't even bring your mobile, so we had NO WAY to contact you!" And another loud smack following 'no way' on both hands. "If you had waited just ten minutes later before showing up, your brother would have been called in. You really didn't want that to happen, did you?" She finished her rant placing her hands on her hips tapping her foot impatiently. "Anything you'd like to say for yourself, young man?"

Sherlock visibly shuddered at mention of Mycroft's name. His overbearing "Big Brother" didn't need to him his eyes train on his every movement. Suddenly all forms of communication fled his brain, he didn't know what to say to his landlady that would calm her down except, "I wish John was here, he'd know how to fix it. He's good with that stuff...the emotional stuff...", but thankfully those words did not leave his lips. There would have been more smacked to his poor abide hands. Instead, the tongue-tied man of all six-feet felt two centimetres tall. He didn't mean to worry her or any of his other friends, just didn't think about his actions. _I didn't think my absence would affect anyone, I always return home. You should know that. I always come back. I promise not to do it ever again. I will tell someone before I disappear. I am truly sorry._

"I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson, I will remember to take my mobile with me and to call before I disappear. Yes, I will also apologise to Molly for making her worry...and to Lestrade too," his mind finally found the words to verbalise.

* * *

Satisfied with the response, Mrs. Hudson allowed her son to go the flat and wait for the two explorers to return. He would have a lot of explaining to do she chastised setting down a fresh pot of tea and scones just as Molly and Lestrade barrelled in and took the stairs two at a time.

"Sherlock Holmes!" Lestrade bellowed causing the tea cups to rattle, "What have you gotten yourself into this time? What is the point of having a mobile if you don't bother to answer it?" Molly bit back anger and tears when she saw the detective huddled up in his chair still bundled in his coat and scarf. _How dare he do that to her! Making her worry like that. Making everyone worry about him!_

Molly pulled a book out of the bag and sat on the arm of his chair then gently asked, "Is this where you've been, Sherlock?"

A barely audible "Yes" emitted from the deep voice.

"Oh, ok. Why didn't you wait for me to come? We could have gone together? I came here and you were gone, had us all quite worried." Molly ran her hand down the foreign language closing here eyes for a moment to take it in fully. _Oh Sherlock...just let your pride fall, I want to help. Let me. Please._

The still dazzling pair of eyes belonging to the huddle up man squinted to the petite lady with hope and fear at the same time. Her fuzzy silhouette shone bright against the harsh rainbow of white light filling all the space behind her. "Molly Hooper," he placed his hand over hers on the new language, "Will you help me learn? I know it will be an extreme amount of effort on your part and things will not always go well and things might end up broken and I might be angry and you might give up and..."

Sherlock was cut off with Molly guiding his hand to the top of the page, "The is the letter Y, Sherlock. Now E and S." She kissed his hand for a moment.

If hearts had the ability to explode, Sherlock's would have shattered into millions of tiny fragments. He was beyond feeling jubilant at her simple answer.

_This is Y E S._

_Molly, you have always counted, now you are counted to me more than ever before._

* * *

THE FOLLOWING WEEK

Reluctantly leaving the dazzling Emerald Isle, the Watsons boarded the aeroplane departing from Cloud-9.

_Here we go. Back into the real world. Another tip of the hat to Mycroft for picking them up at the airport and dropping them back to the flat._

John dumped their cases unceremoniously in the corner then took his usual seat with Mary in 'her seat' on his lap. Gesturing at all the material sprawled across the table he greeted the pair, "Hey Sherlock. Molly, nice to see you here. What are you two doing?"

"What does it LOOK like I'm doing? Use your eyes John. Don't be so ordinary. You're above all that. Really. Do try." Sherlock snapped and rolled his eyes before fumbling around the table for a different book, tossing the one he had prior carelessly on the floor.

"Ok, Ok, no need to get all feisty," his flatmate shot back without missing a beat, clearly not missing the verbal abuse he had been privileged to take leave of for a week. "This is interesting." John took a cream-coloured book off the table and perused through it. "When did you get all this?"

"When you were away, obviously," came the bored curt reply.

"Sherlock! Be nice, John's just curious. Don't ruin his good spirit on just coming just back from the honeymoon," Molly interjected whilst leaving her spot next to Sherlock's on the settee to retrieve the hazardous item off the floor. "Don't," Mary cut off Molly's movements and picked up the book thumbing through it before handing it back, "You shouldn't be doing that. It's not right for him to treat you like this. Don't let him do this to you. He knows better."

"It's fine. I'm been putting with his outlandish ways since Day One of meeting him at the morgue. Sherlock went to the bookstore and bought them. I offered to help him out." She took the "child's" hand and forced the book into his palms. "How many times have I told you Sherlock? Don't throw things. Do you want what happened previously to happen again? You know tripping over things scattered about the flat never goes well."

John raised an eyebrow and mouthed 'what'? Molly just shook her head and levelled her eyes with John saying 'I will tell you later' look' so John simply said, "Ah. That's very nice of you to offer. Well, this does beg the question, Why? Why are you doing this, Sherlock?"

"You know I can't stand sounding like a broke record, don't make me. Think! Use your five senses. Actually observe and make logical inferences. It isn't THAT difficult. Has becoming a married man diminished your brain activity? (If that is so, I will never marry!) I think the honeymoon was detrimental to your health. Exactly this!" Sherlock jabbed a bony finger in John's direction. "You spent too long away from London and now this... the mush you call a brain is hardly half of what you had before." He scoffed, returned to his book, and tapped Molly's knee for her to start reading again the alphabet.

Mary and John watched silently as Molly patiently guided his fingers over the alphabet and numbers, reading each one aloud a few times. It was certainly not an easy feat to master-reading by fingertips.

It was a heartbreaking yet heartwarming afternoon spent. During the time spent diligently learning, a lengthy and emotionally-bottled conversation about the two hard at work learning Braille was discussed between the Watsons subtle expressions. Molly later joined in with an occasional scowl or eyebrow raised. She learnt quick not to move her head because Sherlock felt that slight movement and asked 'why did you move?', to which just made the three other faces in the room turn hot with embarrassment.

_How do you tell your friend you're talking about him by taking advantage of his disadvantage? It felt wrong, like betraying his trust in you?_

* * *

**A-N: Thank you so much for following, commenting, or favouriting! **

**I hope you enjoyed this. Next chapter is mostly written, will be posted ASAP. **


	8. A Promise to Help

**Chapter 7**

* * *

It was a heartbreaking yet heart-warming afternoon spent. During those hours spent diligently learning, a lengthy and emotionally-bottled conversation about the two hard at work learning Braille was being discussed between the Watsons' subtle expressions. Molly later realised the conversation was taking place and joined in with an occasional scowl or eyebrow raised. She learned quick not to move her head because Sherlock felt that slight movement and asked 'why did you move?' to which just made the three other faces in the room turn hot with embarrassment.

_How do you tell your friend you're talking about him by taking advantage of his disadvantage? It felt wrong, like betraying his trust in you?_

* * *

Later on that night whilst Sherlock was lost in musical thoughts with his Estella, John took the opportunity to ask what was weighing on his mind ever since he arrived. "So," he prompted and cleared his throat softly, "will you explain all of it to me, everything leading up to this point? I get the feeling Sherlock isn't too keen on talking about any of this unless it's just you alone," gesturing to the scattered materials on the kitchen table. Molly made tea quickly, and then conceded to explain the man's unusual behaviour to the Watsons.

Taking a deep breath Molly began her tale, "He went to the bookstore all by himself. Took a cab and disappeared for the whole afternoon without bothering to bring his mobile either. Thank goodness he was fine, I can't even imagine if something did happen to him. I noticed a bruised hand, well, just the knuckles. I suspect he was upset and punched something, and not the result of a fall…but what if, I mean the streets are crowded and hazardous things everywhere…" She scrubbed her face trying to rid the scary thought of Sherlock lying all alone injured in some unknown place with no one to help him. Mary patted Molly's hand, "Molly. Molly, it's alright. Don't think about it. It didn't happen; we will all have a good long chat with him to prevent it from this happening again, ok?"

The pathologist nodded, "Nearly gave me a heart attack when I walked in and couldn't find him anywhere. Should have seen the state we were in, trying to locate him, we don't have your acquired gift of "internal Sherlock-GPS" John, unfortunately. Took us a couple of very long hours trying to guess out where he might have gone. I searched high and low for him around this area, whilst Lestrade staked out at the Yard and Barts. The bookstore was last places we would have thought about. Would you have thought to look there?!"

Returning to a softer voice Molly continued, "Mrs. Hudson cornered him as soon as a he walked through the front door, and phone us announcing the good news of his return. Apparently, she gave him a good run-down because he looked absolutely and completely miserable by the time Lestrade and I showed up. We were barely five minutes away, so she must have said something powerful that finally went through to that strange mind of his." Her shoulders slumped over as Molly finished and sipped her tea dejectedly. "When would he learn not to act so wild? To act like a proper and mature adult."

Mary shrugged sadly.

John buried his face in his palms.

Molly sighed.

_The conversation was trailing off, but so much more needed to be said. So much that wanted to be left unsaid, perhaps if it isn't mentioned- it isn't real…_

John took one of the books and ran his fingers over the letters. "Braille, I should have known," he chastised himself. Why didn't I anticipate his actions, prevent all this? I mean, I didn't know he would readily accept this. I had thought about it, but he's been fighting every single form of change, even in the slightest, from the time I found out his prognosis. Medicine is of no help to him now, and he knows it so seeking their expertise on this at hospital is useless. He refuses to visit them. Getting his phone setting on the automated voice took some strong convincing from Lestrade and me, we had to mention over and over on just how important it was that he could understand text messages, especially about the cases."

Mary nodded solemnly, picking up where her husband left off, "Yes, when you're at works Molly, we two will drag Sherlock for an outing so he doesn't destroy the flat. That in itself is the lesser of two evils- in a manner of speaking. It saves him from getting too restless, but he refuses help. Doesn't really hit anything. We watch his steps carefully, but pedestrians who aren't paying attention throw him off balance. Yet, won't accept a helping hand. I'm relieved he finally confides in you now. It's better this way."

The young doctor agreed, "Yes, at last he does. He won't admit a word of it, but I know he's terrified. Who can say anything against him? I would be too."

Then Molly went on and explained more of Sherlock's behaviour prior to that huge fiasco, John felt worry building inside him. He knew better than to call out disabilities as hindrances and limitations to independence. The shoulder and leg held him back for quite a time, but that didn't mean being reckless when said limbs weren't in pain anymore. The soldier thought about his own history. At the time, the psychosomatic limp only limited his mobility; it didn't deprive him of freedom though. It was the same with Sherlock, his sight was fading, but only that part of him. He could foresee Sherlock getting himself killed over an insignificant incident (compared to something dangerous- given his line of work) merely because the man didn't know how to stay away from danger, but of course the pompous child would only claim, "Danger comes to me. It's not like I purposely go looking for it. Don't be so dull John."

_There was a vast different between the two. Freedom and being reckless._

Sherlock would know the different; his friend would make sure he would before the next time he leaves the flat. The three in the kitchen set about making a list of things to straighten out with man in the other room.

* * *

As a united front, they placed themselves in their respective seats before John called his flatmate's attention, "Sherlock, please sit. We have something to discuss with you." Molly added, "please don't take this lightly."

Sherlock complied without uttering a word, laying Estella carefully across his lap.

"Yes? Obviously, it is a serious matter or the three of you wouldn't sit here so silently. I have a string of possible topics that might be discussed. Shall I list them, or will you tell me?" Sherlock scoffed at being forced into this discussion.

"Sherlock," Molly chided gently, "We only want to help and if we all agree to do things the same way, then everyone will benefit from it. Ok?"

He strummed an augmented fifth chord Estella.

Each person took a turn in describing how things would be handled in the future: what rules were set for going outside the flat, the organisation system around the flat to make sure every object would be returned to the designated place after use, what kind of experiments were acceptable to perform in the flat without breaking fire marshal regulations…. Later on, John and Mary described in detail the progress of moving into the upstairs flat, and made sure the consulting detective was welcome there at any time at any hour with the only condition of – under no circumstances are you ever allowed to pick the lock. He mulled it over and finally deemed it as, "an acceptable agreement." Molly spent her half of the discussion reassuring Sherlock that learning Braille wouldn't be a bother at all. "I've always wanted to learn a new language, and now I am. I'm willing Sherlock, I really will help you. Promise. We all will.

There were many tears of frustration and a bit of laughter before finally coming to agreement. At last when the first rays poked out from behind the curtains acceptable progress was made to everyone's benefit-Sherlock of course being the most.

* * *

**A-N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. As always-comments (guest comments too!) ,follows,favourites make my day. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	9. Discussing Monet and Africa

**Chapter 8**

* * *

_Molly spent her half of the discussion reassuring Sherlock that learning Braille wouldn't be a bother at all. "I've always wanted to learn a new language, and now I am. I'm willing Sherlock, I really will help you. Promise. We all will."_

_There were many tears of frustration and a bit of laughter before finally coming to agreement. At last when the first rays poked out from behind the curtains acceptable progress was made to everyone's benefit-Sherlock of course being the most. _

* * *

During the course of the discussion John, Mary, and Molly unknowingly played Musical Chairs. Mary migrated into John's personal space on the couch using him as a pillow, whilst Molly perched like a bird on the armrest of the couch closest side to Sherlock's chair. Said man was huddle up on his chair with only his black mop poking out from under the dressing gown, and a pair of delicate hands cradling Estella. The four made progress in establishing some rules to which all would abide by, especially pertaining to the safety of both tenants and the flat. John refused to give in when Sherlock voiced his indignation of his explosive experiments to cease being performed within the walls of the kitchen.

"They're dangerous and questionable things go flying everywhere. I want a flat to live in, Mary does too." John protested rather loudly with expressive gestures.

"It called explosive for a reason John, those "things" are a combination of volatile liquids. Besides I am always careful to avoid affecting too much of our living space," his flatmate dead-panned. "Don't roll your eyes at me John, I know you just did. My logic is sound. You can't argue with that."

John looked like a scowling fish. Sherlock poked his head out and grinned like the Cheshire cat.

Now, now children. Let's not argue," Molly chastised. "Sherlock can perform his more questionable and dangerous experiments at hospital. I'm sure the director wouldn't mind too much if we used one of the spare lab rooms. Agreeable for you John? Sherlock?"

"Yes," one replied eagerly whilst the other begrudgingly.

"Glad that's settled, now who's hungry? I'm famished!" Mary piped in as she gathered the empty teacups.

Everyone chimed in a response, even Sherlock who untangled himself at the turn of a more light-hearted topic. "Alright! English Breakfast coming in a jiffy."

"As the ladies are preparing breakfast, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to examine your eyes Sherlock. Is that alright? It's been some time since the doctor's visit."

Surprisingly to John, Sherlock agreed without a fuss, "Very well, better coming from you than from some strange doctor at hospital. I dislike them far too much. Give me my case first though, I need to put Estella away, wouldn't want to risk anything happening to her."

"Here Sherlock," Molly placed his hand on the case handle whilst John went to retrieve the medical bag from his room, "speaking of which, will you play for us later on today? I really liked the new piece you're working on, especially the fast part. One of your own compositions, I assume?"

He deftly cleaned and stored away Estella in a few fluid movements, "If you wish, I don't mind. Yes it is my newest one, just thought of it a couple of days ago. I don't have a title for it yet."

"Thanks Sherlock, I'm going to help Mary now. Want anything particular kind pastry eat along with what Mary's making?"

"No thanks. Just whatever is available will be fine."

She gave his hand a quick pat before shuffling to Mary. "You promised, I want to hear it again."

"Me too! It was a great piece." Chimed in John hearing Molly's words as he passed her by with bag in hand.

* * *

Pulling up a chair beside his patient John explained, "Alright, Sherlock. So here's how it'll be..."

Sherlock only fidgeted slightly whilst John evaluated the prognosis of his patient's eyes. He closed up the bag and crossed his arms loosely together, "Since the blindness is not the result of injury to the eye itself or the optic nerve, you still have a decent amount of pupillary light response. A good advantage for you. I would consider wearing sunglasses when going outside, even on a very cloudy day. Or in extremely bright rooms. It would be best, less chance of harm to the eye itself**."

He nodded solemnly. "I believe you have a point. I have been keeping record of experiments on myself for the past weeks. Your observations match my data. "

John quirked an eyebrow and coughed, but opted not to voice his unhappiness about self-experimentation.

Taking the doctor's silence as an answer he continued, "I have noted the effects of different kinds of light and their intensities has what kind of results on what I am able to see."

"That's interesting. Well then could you describe to me what this room looks like right now?"

"Well," Sherlock hummed trying to find the words in describing best what state their flat was in, "obviously it is day time, I would wager eight in the morning given the length of our all-night discussion. Also the amount sunlight in our flat is only minimal, well, that is how I see it." He craned his neck and looked at the window, which was only partially drawn, then hit the time on his mobile. The automated British voice stated: "eight o'clock A.M."

He smirked. He knew John would be head over heals trying to figure out how the time was just as he said it was.

"Right now this room looks a bit like the signature mark of Monet, too far or too close away and the painting is unrecognisable. Yet, there is no in between for me, except for maybe about.…" He beckoned John to lean forward a bit, then held up his hands to measure the distance, "yes, right about here. Two hand widths away is a good distance."

"Ok, so can you trace this purple part with your finger?" John pulled out an atlas and pointed to Africa holding it at said distance whilst Sherlock ran his finger between the blue water and purple Africa.

Their intense concentration on the continent* was interrupted with Lestrade bounding up the stairs.

"Gerald!" Sherlock's head shot up like a bullet from the barrel and eyed the door waiting for the man to reach the top, "do you have a Seven or Eight for me at least? I'm so bored! I've been banned from experiments in the flat. Do you realise how terrible that is?!"

"Hello John, Sherlock," the inspector braced himself against the frame breathing heavily, "Actually, yes. I don't know how high you'd rank it, but it's an interesting case. Could you two lend us a hand? By the way, how did you know it would be me coming up the steps?"

Sherlock straightened up in the chair and grinned smugly,"There is only one sound I know better than anything else. Scotland Yard's desperation to solve a case, and you're the only one who ever comes in here. Donovan and Anderson wouldn't dare unless you're with them."

Before either man could produce another sound, Sherlock leapt from his chair and raced to his room. He returned moments later donned in his beloved Belstaff coat, scarf, and a pair of black sunglasses.

John put a finger to his lips signalling Greg to not mention the new addition to the man's signature look until they had a moment to discuss it privately.

"Ok! Let's go then." John eagerly called out. He was glad of the interruption because cases always brought out the best parts in Sherlock's mood. The three filed out of the room and descended to the front door. Discreetly Sherlock kept his finger hooked on the back of John's jumper collar taking each step slowly and deliberately.

_John knew, but he didn't mind one bit. _

* * *

**A-N: Thanks for reading. Sorry for the delay in updating, I couldn't think of anything to write for this chapter so it sat idle for some days on my computer.**

**It would be lovely if you followed this story and/or leave a thought. :D**

**** I did research this fact. It might be incorrect in some instances, but for the most part what I wrote for John is accurate.****

***Africa is not a country.***


	10. At the Crime Scene

**Chapter 9**

* * *

_"Ok! Let's go then." John eagerly called out. He was glad of the interruption because cases always brought out the best parts in Sherlock's mood. The three filed out of the room and descended to the front door. Discreetly Sherlock kept his finger hooked on the back of John's jumper collar taking each step slowly and deliberately._

* * *

During the ride to the crime scene, Sherlock ordered for a full debriefing on the case. John willingly read the notes on the persons involved whilst the man with the Mind Palace filed each fact carefully away for later reference. The three men pulled up to an old worn down house fenced off with an unruly hedge surrounding the lot and vines growing wildly all over the grey slimy walls.

"Where are we John? How is this place?" Sherlock asked before Lestrade even had a chance to turn off the engine. John got out of the car and made sure his companion wouldn't hit his head following suit. The shorter man looked around then described it as just so, to which the other two just nodded. "Good," came the terse reply. "Let's go in now."

John felt a bit uneasy with Sherlock at a foreign place.

_So many things could go wrong..._

* * *

"Steps Sherlock. Give me your hand," John cautioned taking the outstretched hand and placing it on his shoulder before taking the first step on the unsteady rotten wooden staircase. The wood creaked and moaned as it took the weight of the men. "What a filthy place, must have even abandoned for quite a long time given it's rubbish up keeping. I would estimate between 6-8 years that this place has been empty given the height of the grass out in the front garden. The ideal place for the dead body," Sherlock indirectly complimenting the murderer running his gloved hand up the banister and wall.

The three newcomers had barely set foot over the threshold of the room before Sherlock's outburst of indignation startled everyone, "Anderson! Face the other way! Your face is putting me off! Why are you even here anyway? This isn't your division!"

John took one peak at the flabbergasted Anderson and couldn't help himself, he chuckled.

Anderson stripped off his gloves violently and stormed from the far end of the room to stand practically face on face close with his insultor screaming hysterically and repeatedly poking a finger into Sherlock's shoulder, who just ignored it, "What did you say..how dare you insult...how did you know...wait, I thought you...never mind, I don't care to know...Lestrade! Aren't you going to do something? Didn't you hear him?"

"Like what? I suggest you do something to make the situation better, " Lestrade commented.

Sherlock merely gave en evil smile before taking the offending finger in one hand and twisted it violently behind the attached body pinning the wrist painfully into the spine. "Hello Philip," the consulting detective growled into his ear popping the last 'p', "I didn't quite catch what you said, you stammered and mumbled. It's not highly approved of in society, you know? This way of speaking, it does make you look less intelligent than you already are. Now, what was it that you wanted to say? I advise you make your intentions clearly know."

Lestrade thought Anderson really did deserve what was coming to him after verbally abusing the consulting detective at every chance possible even since the two first met, but pulling the card the last grain of rice that tipped the scale. It didn't matter who is being discussed, playing 'that kind of card' is just socially and morally inexcusable in so many ways.

"Not to mention just his sensitive Sherlock is on the issue. It took some time and discussion for things to go the way they are now, and Anderson really isn't helping anything here at all," John thought.

Sherlock casually straightened his scarf with the other hand, "I'm waiting, I don't have all the time in the world to be standing here in this forsaken place. I've got things to do. "

Anderson knew he had crossed the line as soon as his blubbering mess of words came tumbling out of his mouth, but now was too late to fix anything. "Might as well take it and be done with it faster", he groaned in his head. "Eh...I said...em...that...asked how...well and em...I was amazed how did you know it was me before you came." he finished in a rush.

"Easy, I heard you whispering to Donovan about plans for tomorrow, and nothing about the victim or scene."

"I think you should say something else, shouldn't you Anderson?" John interjected earning a mildly surprised looked from the restrainer. "Yes sir, you are right," Anderson replied unaware of the word he was saying. John was a force not to be crossed with. He'd seen the military man successfully overpower criminals in their attempt to flee and had no wish to experience it personally. Sherlock released the man roughly causing him to tumble a bit before righting himself. "Now. Do not make me repeat myself," the captain crossed his arms and stood straight whilst Sherlock leaned lazily against the door drumming his fingertips lightly on the wood.

Anderson hunched over his shoulders and nodded solemnly, "I'm sorry Sherlock. I really didn't mean to be so rude. I really wasn't thinking. I won't let it slip again."

"Good answer, now get going back to the Yard," Lestrade steered Anderson to the stairs and pointed down," You're relieved of this case and futher cases until otherwise notified. You will be handling paper work instead. Go. Think about what happened here and make sure it never happens again." Anderson solemnly left without another word.

"Good." Sherlock straightened up and smiled happily, "Now that is settled, can we get back to the reason why we came here in the first place? John, the place," he prompted with a gesture of the room.

John took a glance at Sherlock before observing the rooms. That happy smile was just for show, it would take more than that to fool him in to believing a simple "good" would fix everything. Sherlock was abused verbally, but this time the words went through his armour. He knew how hard Sherlock had fought with the doctors, resisted the changes, and even more so his want to hide it from the public. Those two were both at fault. Sherlock didn't need to twist Anderson's arm and both men could have put more thought into their words before speaking. Anderson's comment wasn't necessarily rude per say, but it could have been said with a gentler rather than unkind tone. Perhaps that was what set Sherlock off after he provoked the man, what he didn't want came right in his face.

"Right, well female victim lies in sternal recumbency, with her head turned to the right. She is approximately thirty-five years old given the state of her teeth and general appearance. Hair light blonde and is disheveled as is her torn dress," John circled the victim observing the detail just like Sherlock would. "Mind calf length floral print with a 5 centimetre tear in the skirt diagonally down from left to right. Perhaps torn from catching it on the splintered wood here. Wound is to the head from a blunt object, minimal blood elsewhere aside from the place of impact. Anything else Sherlock?" John returned to his flatmate's side.

"Not bad, you're picking more and more with each case. You missed the obvious though. How big is the wound? How long has the blood been there? Any sign of struggle? Also, I know this isn't an empty room, you forgot that bit too. What's in the room? Where is the victim?" Sherlock took a small steps forward to the large colourful mass on the floor until he felt John's hand on his shoulder to hold him back, then knelt over the body. He pulled out a pair of latex gloves and palpated the victim, noting all the points his Eyes - aka John missed.

_Honestly, he did do well. Noticed more and more this time than before. He's learning quick. Good for him. First, describing the house then noting the rickety staircase, and now the victim. I'm pleased with his progress._

"I have all the information I need now. Do you have any witnesses or possible leads, Garret?" Sherlock turned on his heels and walked to the creme-coloured floating mass, which he knew as John wearing the hideous knitted jumper again. The doctor and inspector accidentally backed into the wall because Sherlock didn't know how close he had stopped in front of the two. "Uh, yea sure. We have one witness, but it has been hard to communicate with her. You're welcome to give it a go though. She's at the Yard." Lestrade called the remaining members of his team, who had mysteriously vanished at Sherlock's and John's appearance to take care of the body and finish the paperwork on the crime scene, then the three left for the Yard.

* * *

**A-N: Any comments, follows, and favourites are lovely. **

**Sorry for the delay in updating. I've been busy and suffering from writer's block-again. It's a dreadful condition. I think and think and think and nothing comes to mind, so I write something else.**

**The latest story is called YOU HAVE ALWAYS COUNTED. If I don't update this story, then I update that one. For some reason, as I'm writing for the other story, I find ideas for this one.**


	11. Surprises in Signs

**Chapter 10**

* * *

_"I have all the information I need now. Do you have any witnesses or possible leads, Garret?" Sherlock turned on his heels and walked to the creme-coloured floating mass, which he knew as John wearing the hideous knitted jumper again. The doctor and inspector accidentally backed into the wall because Sherlock didn't know how close he had stopped in front of the two. "Uh, yea sure. We have one witness, but it has been hard to communicate with her. You're welcome to give it a go though. She's at the Yard." Lestrade called the remaining members of his team, who had mysteriously vanished at Sherlock's and John's appearance to take care of the body and finish the paperwork on the crime scene, then the three left for the Yard._

* * *

John and Lestrade filled the ride back to the Yard with idle small talk about the weather (oh oh how sterotypical), the latest teams playing against each other and their scores, where to meet for the next drink at the pub. During their chattering, Sherlock was glad of the distraction, it kept his mind focused on the case at hand, and not what happened before it with Anderson and all.

_Granted, his apology was decent and accepted, but that was far too close for comfort. How is it that he, of all persons, manages to hit through this wall? John came close several times with his doctor side of him speaking. Molly, she...I tell her what I feel because I promised I wouldn't lie to her, and also because it is impossible to hide anything from her. Mary and Mrs. Hudson? They're kind, but why trouble them with knowledge of this? They don't need to know, some things are best left in the dark._

"Right, here we are back now," Lestrade announced to no one in particular, "Let's go to my office. I'll have the witness meet us there."

Sherlock knew the layout of the Yard perfectly. At one point he could describe in precise detail every little scratch and dent in the path to Lestrade's office, but the confidence in such a claim wasn't as it use to be. It terrifed him to loose that feeling of control on his own step.

John felt the subtle lag in his flatmate's step, so slowed down ever so slightly that it wouldn't have been noticeable to anyone, but for one holding on to his forearm felt it. He felt immensely grateful for it, it made him feel more safe.

_John, you never cease to amaze me. Not even a word nor even a hint, yet you understand almost how everything must be for me now._

_New Note. Fact: John is becoming sharper and sharper with his observations and acts accordingly. File: John Watson. Folder: Behaviours. Saved._

* * *

The 17-year old witness had been sleeping on one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room provided by the Yard when the consulting detective and doctor walked into the building. Her clothes were crumpled, faded, and with a face tear-stained from hours ago. Lestrade bekoned for her to follow them to his office. John led Sherlock to the corner of the desk, then step aside waiting for Lestrade and the witness to take their seats.

The witness took out her phone showed the inspector the message: "Who are these men? Do you know what happened yet?" He shook his head sadly and typed, "No, not yet. We are working on it. This is Dr. Watson and our associate Mr. Holmes. They help us with solving cases, and will help find the answer to what happened." Lestrade looked quizzically at John wondering how everything would pan out, the doctor just shrugged and gave a friendly smile to her.

Sherlock drummed his long bony fingers on the worn-outdesk and tapped his foot impatiently, "What is taking so long? John, explain." He thought for a moment then added in a whisper, "please John."

"Right, this is our witness," he motioned for her to come meet Sherlock. "She is seventeen and deaf. Aside from that you know everything else about the case, it was she who gave the details to the official report following her discovery of the victim." Whilst John spoke Lestrade wrote everything on paper for the girl to read then she wrote back, "Mr. Holmes, pleased to meet you. Are you blind? Will you find the answers to what happened?"

John read the question to Sherlock, who just had the hints of a smug smile curled on the corner of his lips. He raised his hands slightly, "Yes, I am," his eyes glimmered matching the smugness now clearly written across his face, "Quite so, but not yet entirely. It will be soon though; however, we both know that what we lack is the very least of our problems, isn't it? Tell me. I'm curious. These two," he gestured a bit too wide and unintentionally nearly taking out John's face in the process, "What are their expressions?"

She laughed at the little mishap then placed her hand in his and emphatically signed, "Yes! It's good to have someone that thinks like me. I don't care about the differences between us and everyone else. I just want to know the answer to what happened. That lady was a very important person to me. Although I am considered a witness, I wasn't in the actual room when everything happened. Well, the officer is surprised with his mouth slightly open, but the doctor's expressions are even more expressive. His face is just a very shocked look with his arms folded across his chest, but he also seems a bit upset because you almost hit him."

Sherlock chuckled, "You notice the details, I'm pleased with that. Those two don't know I can speak sign language. Just between us two," his expression softened for only a flicker of a second, "it feels good not being the ones left out, doesn't it?" Again he felt the girl nod emphatically. "As for the doctor, I didn't mean to hit him." Sherlock turned and apologised to his friend.

"Now tell me about the case. I gather there are many things you left out of the report based on what they've read to me so far," he signed. Her eyes light up and rushed to take his hand in hers again, "This is brilliant! I'm so so happy you can speak to me. Writing and texting is terribly slow. Yes, I did omit things. You're quite clever. The interrpreter left for a break, poor thing has been here all day bored as I am. She interpreted everything the officers asked, which were some rather dull questions, but after that they gave me paper to write everything down, said it was for official keeping. Then, I took a nap whilst she went for coffee. Now you three are here. That's everything I've done today."

Lestrade and John looked helplessly at each other, neither one knew much of BSL (British Sign Language). A few words here and there, but they went too fast for either to get anything meaningful out of their conversation. John clearned his throat and signed one of the few words he recalled, "Sorry", then tapped Sherlock's shoulder, "Please enlighten us. I didn't know you knew BSL. Could you interpret for our benefit? We'd really like to know what you two are discussing."

She didn't need an interpreter to understand John and Sherlock's exchange. It was clear as glass that Sherlock enjoyed having the upper hand in this situation. "Very well, if you insist. I do strongly advise you to consider taking some classes to familiarise yourself with this complex and fascinating language," the consulting detective replied in a manner for all to understand him.

She guided him to the extra chairs one of the Yard staff had just brought in, placing him between herself and the doctor, "Now, let's get down to business," When the interpreter returns, she can speak for us. It may be a good chance to conduct an experiment on how many different tasks the brain is able to handle at the same time, but I would rather save for later until after this case is finished." ** This time the other three understood and chimed in their agreement. "Shall we begin? Tell me everything you left out in your report..."

* * *

**A-N: ****I hope you are enjoying this so far. ****Leave a thought, if you wish.**

****It takes quite an effort to interpret for long periods of time, that is why sometime (if available to) a person will have two interpreters with them. In Sherlock's case, he would have to verbalise the witness' words as well as his own, and sign John's and Lestrade's speaking. It is not impossible, but very taxing on the mind.****

**How does someone blind communicate with a person who is deaf? To think that almost, if not all, verbal languages have some accompanying form of Sign Language is quite extraordinary. **

**I am hesitant to give names to characters that are not part of the novel or series, so the victim and witness will not have names as of right now. Perhaps later they might.**


	12. This Quiet Evening

**Chapter 11**

* * *

_She guided him to the extra chairs one of the Yard staff had just brought in, placing him between herself and the doctor, "Now, let's get down to business," When the interpreter returns, she can speak for us. It may be a good chance to conduct an experiment on how many different tasks the brain is able to handle at the same time, but I would rather save for later until after this case is finished." This time the other three understood and chimed in their agreement. "Shall we begin? Tell me everything you left out in your report..." She took Sherlock's hands and began to tell the tale._

* * *

Not long after the witness began telling her account, the interpreter arrived and took over Sherlock's temporary position as such. He was glad of her presence.

_Really, I'm surprised. I would have thought Lestrade to know a few things of BSL, such as the alphabet or basic information, given his profession of interacting with people. They really should take some classes. It would be most beneficial for John too. _

There was quite a bit of information the witness freely shared with the three men, so it took a few hours including the time for the additional questions Sherlock asked. To all others in the room, it seemed Sherlock never tired of listening to the witness or firing question after question at her. Some of the questions were about the victim, others were about herself. Obviously, the consulting detective had deduced the past sixteen years of her life mostly accurately. There was the occasional mishap of gender swapped siblings or such thereof until she fully explained her family matters_ ("There's always something!"_). He was intrigued with her history, and how she became entangled in such a position to find herself sitting at Scotland Yard. At last, the meeting adjourned. The interpreter was exhausted, John was half asleep, and Lestrade was barely functional. The only two lively ones were the young witness and The One And Only.

"Lestrade, I will call you with the results. I have what I need now. Come on John, let's go!" Sherlock donned his coat, scarf, and sunglasses and waited, but John was so tired he didn't hear. Sherlock address him a second time, "John? Get up. We're done. Let's go back to the flat now. Mary is home." At mention of his wife, the smaller man seem to snap out of his haze, so lead Sherlock out of the office by the arm, and with the others trailing behind.

Sherlock's mind was spinning wildly with information, like a mass of letters swarming inside his Palace. It was hard for him to concentrate on anything, much less walking.

"Hurry John!" He ordered.

Finally reaching the safety of the panda car, he closed his eyes and leaned his head on the cool glass. It wouldn't take long for the ride from Scotland Yard to Baker Street, but it was enough time to organise the information into manageable size for detail filing later.

* * *

"So, were you ever going to tell me?" John asked whilst placing a steaming cup of Earl Grey in Sherlock's demanding hands, and then eased himself into his own spot without spilling a drop of his own. "Tell what? You two have been away all day. It is nearly six in the evening. I haven't heard a word about the case since your return, that isn't like you two at all. How was the case? Interesting, I hope." Molly observed the two from her curled up position in the crook of the armrest and back end of the sofa. She looked up from her book wearing an expression that required a sufficient answer.

"Sherlock will tell you. He would be delighted to do that." John deadpanned shooting a scathing look at said man. He was feeling a bit on edge due to the stress Sherlock had caused him that afternoon with the more that usual antics he displayed during the time with the witness.

"Yes John, I was planning to tell you when the time became necessary, as it did the moment I met our witness, which by the way is proving to be quite an interesting case- cataloging all her behaviors and words. However, the current case itself is quite perplexing," the man paused to take a sip delaying the much wanted response John expected, "I require more information before I can rule out my theories. Currently, I have seven plausible solutions that fit the crime scene and her account of what happened. There are factors that are missing for each theory, we must test them out. I'm afraid you'll have to sacrifice some sleeping time to get on with this is case. Shouldn't trouble you too much, would it?"

_Give up precious sleep?! Few people can demands such a request and have it granted. Sherlock is one of the few, but that doesn't mean he can abuse the power of such. _

"Yea, sure. Not too late though. I would like at least a minimum of five hour of proper sleeping and not just dozing off. I would also demand that we stop to have a proper meal, not everyone can survive on tea and little nibbles of bread and biscuits during the day," John answered hoping he wouldn't regret it later. After all, the doctor did still have a job at the clinic and he did have patient to take care of tomorrow. No one would want a GP that performed examinations or prescribed medications whilst half-asleep.

Turning to Molly, he added, "This is an interesting case. I will tell you, as John put it, be delighted to." John scowled and choked on his breath as Sherlock scoffed over the borrowed words.

"Well. I'm going upstairs now to Mary," the tired doctor stretched out his back creating a symphony of cracking sound from his spine, "Think of my health and my job at the clinic when you decide to drag me along in some unpleasant hour to do something crazy. Better yet, let all of your antics wait till tomorrow. It is far too late for anything now."

"Go. I will call for you when I require your assistance. I need to consult some things first," Sherlock set his tea down and opened the doors to his Mind Palace. He wandered around in there re-reading past files on his friends, organised his newer bits of miscellaneous information into their proper places, and catalogued his findings about the witness and the present case. Pleased with the work accomplished, he descended down the stairs, locked the gate, and returned to his chair in the Baker Street flat. Upon opening his eyes he saw a small figure with brown hair staring at him.

"Well?" Molly, who had finished her book a long time ago, and was wandering around the flat straightening it, prompted with an accompanying soft poke to the consulting detective's shoulder, "you said you would tell me about the case. Now would be a good time to do so."

"Ehem, actually no. I will tell you later. Molly, I require your assistance." The consulting detective unexpectedly stood up and straightened his suit, "I need to go to the morgue and conduct and experiment."

Sherlock sat back down and fiddled with his cold cup of tea until Molly decided to move from her spot, Are you ready?" He demanded impatiently," I need to go to the morgue. My experiment is there waiting- the acid one. I must record the changes."

"Sherlock, do you know what time it is? It is far too late to go to the morgue now. I don't have access to get in the building, only into the morgue. This has to wait until tomorrow. Why don't you eat or find something else to do? Better yet, go to John. He would be hungry after skipping a lunch because of your hastiness. Here, take this peace offering to him." She rushed off and came back from the kitchen pressing a steaming cup of tea into his hand, then led him to the banister," give him this and maybe he won't be so cross with you when he wakes. Ask Mary to come down also for something to eat. You can also tell me about the case, you're usually not so quiet about them. I want to know why is this one so special."

She gave him a gentle push to climb the flight of steps then returned to the kitchen. He couldn't find an ounce of reason to argue with her, she was right on all account, so he started up the steps. As a friend would be so, Sherlock should have taken better care of John firstly, by providing sufficient food and rest.

* * *

**A-N: I have been quite busy and hadn't had any time to write. Doubling as hostess and musician is very exhausting, but enjoyable. Six months of planning and rehearsals with many others has finally paid off with amazing results. Additionally, I will be away starting next month and will return in shortly before August comes. During that time, I won't have access much to internet so won't be able to post or reply much at all.**

**Thank you for reading still! A word or two from you makes me very happy. If you would like, there is a new one featuring the great intellingent fool and his companion: "Humpty Dumpty". **


	13. An Agreeable Trade

**Chapter 12**

* * *

_She gave him a gentle push to climb the flight of steps then returned to the kitchen. He couldn't find an ounce of reason to argue with her, she was right on all account, so he started up the steps. As a friend would be so, Sherlock should have taken better care of John firstly, by providing sufficient food and rest._

* * *

It wasn't long before the table was set with a nice dinner for four, nothing extravagant but better than take-away. The four ate quickly, none were keen to idle small chat tonight, talking could wait until after the dishes had been put away. John and Mary were busy in the kitchen washing up the plates, so Molly went to check on what Sherlock was doing.

"Sherlock?" she called softly, then found said man quietly strumming chords on his violin. She smiled, if Sherlock had his violin then he was in a pleasant mood.

"Molly, there you are. Where are my books?" The man untangled himself from his chair and sat straight up, balancing the violin vertically on his knee, catching her off guard.

"Pardon me, what did you say?" Molly walked into the room and stood by the sofa's armrest.

Sherlock huffed in annoyance and leaned back in the chair, "My books, Molly. The ones from the bookstore. You promised. Did you forget it?"

She smiled and mumbled under her breath, "Course not, I promised," then fetched the books under a huge stack of old case files Lestrade brought over the other day to stave off the Sherlock's boredom. It worked but not for long...

"Ok. I've got them. Where do you want to start?" Molly began shuffling through the ones that had and hadn't been read yet.

"Where is the reading one? I've already memorised the alphanumeric sets." He reached out for the hazy coloured mass in front of him until his fingers came into contact with the specific book. It was a book of simple sentences and phrases printed in Braille with the accompanying text in large font at the top of the page. Sherlock closed his eyes and summoned a chart of the alphabet from his Mind Palace, then ran his fingers slowly over each Braille cell calling out the printed letters in his mind.

_This is only one dot. "A" is one dot in the top left corner. First letter is "A". How original. "C" is two dots next to each other horizontally. Second letter is "C". Now back to "A" and "T". A.C.A.T._

"Molly, this says 'a cat'," Sherlock declared confidently a moment later, and opened his eyes looking down at the page. For him, trying to read the large text was like looking at a photo with really poor quality and many pixels showing. Each letter was still readable, but very difficult to do so. Just as he had said, the word 'A CAT' was printed above the face of a yellow cat sitting with its tail curled by his hind legs.

"Good Sherlock. You're so quick now." Molly couldn't help but feel proud from him. He had come from such a miserable plight of despair to tackling a new skill willingly.

They went through several more simple words before moving on to the harder ones in the middle of the book. John and Mary came in at that time with a fresh pot of tea and cups in their hands. "Don't stop on our account," Mary said the moment Sherlock looked up hearing footsteps, "Keep going, we'll just take a seat here and be quiet."

He nodded then turned his attention back to the sentence he had been stuck on for the past ten minuets. It wasn't a difficult sentence, but trying to distinguish a string of letters printed consecutively without differentiating in spacing was challenging**. Molly could see his temper fluctuating behind that barrier of emotional expression. Sometimes his face showed fury, and other times he looked defeated. The man had swallowed his pride, and asked for help twice reading out certain letters. There's no shame in asking for help, but he didn't realise it.

W_hy did all the letters have to feel the same?! This is too difficult! I can't do this! Braille is pointless, I have John, he can read me everything. Sign Language was never this hard._"

To ask a third time would make him even more livid, but Molly knew if she offered without permission, it was a direct hit to his dignity. She would never do that intentionally to him.

* * *

"Sherlock, look at me." Molly took his hands off the page.

He looked at the fireplace, so she took the book from his lap, and absentmindely handed it to John, who was sitting on the sofa with Mary.

"Sherlock, look at me," she repeated with a stronger inflection in her voice.

He saw a halo-like light dancing around a silhouette of the kneeling pathologist and scowled, "What!?"

"Nothing. You just need a distraction. Here. Have some tea whilst still hot." Molly said then patted his hand. She went to sit on the sofa as Mary handed him the cup.

"Why don't you tell Mary about the new case? She hasn't heard a word of it," John posed a thought hoping to pull Sherlock's mind into something more cheery.

_Only Sherlock would call a murder mystery cheerful._

"Fine." He took a sip then proceeded to tell the whole event in a very animated fashion, not sparing any details. No one interrupted him and offered sparingly polite mumbles of acknowledgment.

"I'm sure you'll have the case closed in no time. Wow, I didn't know you knew sign language," Just like John and Molly who found out about Sherlock's hidden skill, Mary too was enthralled with this new information and voiced her appreciation. "I've always wanted to learn, but it just never had the right opportunity to," Mary commented.

"Yes, I learnt it as a child. Mycroft did too, but my skills are much better than his. He spent more time worrying about trivial things than paying attention to the teacher. Besides, it isn't something you broadcast to everyone aimlessly. It is good I met her, gives me a chance to brush up on my signing."

"True. I guess it's like any other language. How long did it take for you to master it? Do you think I could learn it, I'm not too good with that type of thing? Some mates from the army tried to teach me the local dialect in Afghanistan, but never did quite get the hang of it," John added in whilst stealing a glance for Molly's eye. She dipped her head slightly in understanding.

John was clever, she knew his train of thought- let Sherlock talk about to his hearts content about BSL (British Sign Language), then perhaps he will realise learning to read with his fingers won't happen overnight. Everything takes time to learn and become fluent in.

"That depends,"Sherlock placed the tea on table then steepled his fingers underneath his chin before delving into a lengthy explanation, "There are many aspects of BSL people don't realise. For instance, the grammatical structure doesn't follow spoken grammar. This is its own language; hence its own syntax, slang, and idioms."

"Ah. That would make sense," John nodded in agreement,"My friend from first year Uni once showed me something his sister wrote. She was born deaf, and her writing was understandable, but the words were out of the usual order we would say them in."

Mary took the book John had been holding all that time and perused through it thinking, "Indeed. It is quite a feat learning Braille. I wouldn't have even learnt half as much as Sherlock had in twice the time he had."

Molly pipped in,"Well. How about this Sherlock? What say you to this idea? We can all learn Braille together and you can teach us BSL so we will all be on the same playing field. Besides, learning something only would benefit us. Sound agreeable?"

Sherlock tossed the suggestion around in his head. It did seem logical and it could come it useful whilst on a case, especially if he wanted to tell John something without anyone else could sign.

"It is agreeable." He felt around the table until his hand hit the book he wanted,"Start with this book. It teaches the alphabet and numbers. What happened to the one I was reading? It's not on the table."

Molly, John, and Mary couldn't have smiled any wider. They had succeeded in overcoming one of the many anticipated obstacles with Sherlock's blindness. There would certainly be several more to cross and some might be repeated, but the best thing was to take it one at a time together.

"Here." Mary places the book back in his hands and took the beginner book he offered, "I was looking through it, seems so complex and you've already gotten this far. That really good!"

Together the Watsons started breaking down the barriers of illiteracy in Braille whilst Molly resumed reading the same material Sherlock had previously.

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for reading! Many of you expressed a liking for incorporating a deaf witness and BSL into the story. I'm glad it was a success because I was worried it might not have been received well.**

**As mentioned previously, I will not be available for the month of July. I shall see you in August. If you're ever bored to the point of watching paint dry then maybe you might find criticising the previous works more enjoyable, I honestly would appreciate it.**

****Braille is a very very complex language, it takes far longer to learn than any sign language (SL). There are two basic forms: uncontracted and contracted form. To be literate a person must be fluent in writing and reading the more advanced contracted form. There are so many rules to writing I didn't know existed. Some sighted people master Braille to the extent where they can read it with their eyes or their fingers, which very difficult. Go look at any sign in Braille and you'll understand the idea.**


	14. The Secrecy Ends

**Chapter 13**

* * *

_"Here," Mary places the book back in his hands and took the beginner book he offered, "I was looking through it, seems so complex and you've already gotten this far. That is really good!" Together the Watsons started breaking down the barriers of illiteracy in Braille whilst Molly resumed reading the same material Sherlock had previously. _

* * *

The very next day during the morning routine, Sherlock bounded back and forth across the sitting room like a child with too much sugar. He kept whining for John to hurry since starting the experiment at the morgue would be crucial to solving the present case.

"Would you give it a rest Sherlock!" John fired back a bit too sharply for his personal liking, but it was after all only 6:30 in the morning. He had his reasons. "I will be done faster if I don't have to come in here every five seconds to makes you're you don't destroy the flat or do something incredibly unintelligent. Go sit and play your violin civilly until I'm ready, THEN we can go meet Molly at St. Barts." John herded the man to his favourite place and handed him the violin, much like how a parent would give a dummy to quiet down an unruly fussing baby.

_Sheesh! Even babies are more behaved than him. _

Sherlock took his instrument and started playing Sabre Dance**, a very uncivil piece, obvious by its given name. He played it a few times through before deeming it as 'boring' and sought other means to occupy himself. That 'other means' was a mix of forcefully banging out irritating rhythms on the short table in front of the fireplace, or playing screeching hissing noise on the violin strings. John hated them both equally. With every sound the poor frazzled nerve of the dear doctor's began to fray faster and faster.

Resounding though the flat and shaking the walls came the oh-so-lovely words no one ever wanted to hear from none other than the one and only, "Are you almost ready? What's taking you so long? What exactly are you doing!? Can we leave nowww?"

Sherlock's endless supply of annoying demanding incessant whining was enough to drive anyone civil insane. It's only a wonder how his brother dear managed it as a child growing up with him. _Oh their poor parents..._

He couldn't have been happier when John finally announced,"Let's go before you do something that could result in our obliteration or the flat's."

John stepped forward to take Sherlock's arm when it was shoved aside and snapped, "No John! Let me alone!I do not want your help!" Taken aback by the sudden change of spirit, John stood awkwardly by Sherlock waiting for him to do whatever it was by himself.

Sherlock walked slowly with deliberate steps toward the door. His hip grazed the sofa's arm, but otherwise didn't actually run into anything else. John looked on with concerned amazement and wondered,"When did Sherlock learn to walk the flat without tripping into anything?"

"Ermm...That's good, Sherlock," John tentatively offered,"Shall I go first on the stairs or you?"

"You." It sounded more of a command rather than a polite offer.

Sherlock followed behind holding onto the banister only instead of John's jumper collar like before. With every step, he became more sure-footed until three steps from the end. He misjudged the distance and slipped into John, who thankfully had reach the floor so caught the tall lanky man before he hit the banister.

"You alright?" John prompted and righted his friend. A curt nod followed by, "Molly is waiting for us. Come," was Sherlock only reply but didn't release his tight grip on John's wrist.

Sherlock's eyes saw the world like a through a kaleidoscope, distorted colours and shapes, but now they also had hints of insecurity building again.

_Sherlock, don't be scared. You don't have to do everything alone._

Gently peeling the long bony fingers off his wrist, the shorter man placed said fingers on his right forearm and took them to the pavement. Sherlock had never said so, but John could feel a difference in their strides depending on where Sherlock held onto him. The forearm was his preferred spot, allowing him to have a spring in his toes, and light on his heels.

* * *

Neither man spoke in the ride to St. Bart's and didn't until they reach the hall leading to the morgue.

"John. Wait,"Sherlock turned to face his friend,"Ermm...about earlier at the flat, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I know you were doing what was well-intentioned, and thank you for catching me. I just wanted to do it myself, and ermmm..." He trailed off the sentence and looked away.

It was the unspoken words John heard loudest,"…and to show you what I can do without anyone hovering over me."

"Don't worry about before. I t's already forgotten. I'm glad I caught you in time." he gave a manly pat on the shoulder,"By the way, when did you have time to learn to walk the flat?"

"When do you think?" Sherlock smiled slyly returning to his normal cheeky-self, "obviously at night when you're asleep. I don't have time during the day. I worried about waking you when things accidentally toppled over, but you never did come down stairs. I've counted the steps around the flat several times now, but not nearly as many times for the stairs. Mrs. Hudson might have heard me since the floor boards creak at specific point. She never misses a thing I do, well except all the 'good' thing. Only picks up on the 'bad ones'. Shame on her".

"Oh. Ok." The internal workings of John's mind started piecing the parts together. It was the most crucial part, particularly the answers for the bruises. They came from falls in the flat not from fist fights with criminals. If calculated right, then it was about a month Sherlock had been doing his practising a few nights each week. "Actually, I did wake up to noises, but I had assumed it was you working on an experiment or just doing your questionable version of "cleaning the flat". I'm sorry. You could have just told me instead of keeping it secret."

"If I wanted you to know, I would have told you a month ago," he deadpanned.

John wiped a guilty smirk away and berated himself, "So I had counted the exact amount of time. What a shame I didn't do anything earlier. Some friend you are John Watson. Never assume with Sherlock, always be more than one-hundred percent certain."

"I'm glad you told me Sherlock, please don't hide anything else from me now on. Come, Molly in the middle of a corpse, but she's waving us in." John offered his arm to Sherlock and this time it wasn't met with an unfavourable response.

* * *

The three spent practically all day at the morgue doing various things. Yet not once did either Molly or John complain about doing something for him, whether it was reading out results or filling up test tubes with different substances. At times their patience would start to run thin, Sherlock wasn't the easiest of men to work with, but a "look" to each other gave a boost of energy to go on.

The time had reached three in the afternoon. Thankfully, the experiment had a long waiting time so John and Molly caught a quick bite during her lunch hour whilst dragging along a reluctant child who wanted to stay at the "playground" longer.

By the time two of the three were full, happy, and rested; they returned to collect the final data and record the result. According to Sherlock, this particular experiment would explain everything he needed to know about the murder weapon and motive. What exactly the experiment was in itself left the other two clueless. John could sort of follow his confusing reasoning, and Moly only understood the chemical side of matters.

"Molly, is the solution darker or lighter than the other one?" Sherlock held the test tube up to the light for her, "John, could you get me the results for the first experiment?"

"It's is a much darker shade of red, and according to the results here." John held up the paper next to Molly's, "It says the composition of elements are nearly tripled from the first."

"Perfect! Exactly what I had predicted." He handed off the test tube and gleefully clapped his hands, "Come along, we must pay a visit to the wonderful Scotland Yard." Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes, as if NYS would actually ever be called 'wonderful' is certainly a laugh.

"Please John. Not like before," he held out his hand until it came into contact with the person he trusted. Molly smiled to John, she understood. Words were rarely needed between those two, save for maybe a few if absolutely necessary, otherwise it seems as if those two were joined like a hive mind. Perfectly in tune to each other's actions and thoughts.

* * *

**** «The "Sabre Dance" (Armenian: Սուսերով պար) Russian: Танец с саблями) is a movement in the final act of Aram Khachaturian's ballet "Gayane" (1942). It is where the dancers display their skill with sabres. The movement, especially its middle section, is based on Armenian folk music.» Courtesy of Wikipedia. - - Go listen on YouTube. It is a not a long piece.**

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter!**

**If you're curious to know, I am passed through the former Yugoslavia riding a bus whilst writing this chapter on my phone's note-keeper app. The beautiful lands with so many lovely mountains, rivers, trees, and small villages...most of all the languages and dialects. Ones that I know not a word of, but they're so pretty to listen to.**

**Thank you for everyone's lovely comments, I will reply ASAP.**

**I tried to post it earlier, but the website kept malfunctioning. :(**


	15. Look! Actually Observe!

**Chapter 14**

* * *

_"Please John. Not like before," he held out his hand until it came into contact with the person he trusted. Molly smiled to John, she understood. Words were rarely needed between those two, save for maybe a few if absolutely necessary, otherwise it seems as if those two were joined like a hive mind. Perfectly in tune to each other's actions and thoughts._

* * *

"Sherlock! You're here. Well that's unexpected...Never mind that," Lestrade stopped abruptly in the middle of the path nearly spilling the cup of freshly brewed coffee on himself at seeing the duo striding in, "We've just received some new important information concerning this case. Might want to have a look at it. You saved me from making a call. Come to the office."

"Oh?" Sherlock looked puzzled. He had deduced the whole crime from motive to the very last detail on the body, but the new information may change everything. The case just moved one rank higher on his is scale.

The three sat around the desk in Lestrade's office reviewing the new information for a good hour or so. John's self-appointed position was to describe the physical evidence and photographs, whilst Sherlock asked the DI to read out the official reports. It was a good system of teamwork that worked to everyone's liking.

Apparently, this murderer was now holding a family member of the victim. "Read me the ransom note again. Something isn't right," Sherlock banged his palm on the table in frustration for probably the millionth time since coming to Lestrade's office,"Why commit a murder then take a person for ransom but not in want of money or information? What is missing?! Think Brain think!" He racked his vast collection of random scraps of information trying to find the logic behind such an absurd action. Lestrade and John looked helplessly at each other, they didn't have anything particularly meaningful to offer for the case.

"Tell me what is in the photographs again! Did you notice everything, all the details!? What do you think 'I' would have seen John?" Then his voice softened, "I need you John. You must help me with this. I'll show you what to look for."

John tried to hide a small smile because of his best friend's sudden change of heart, but Lestrade saw it all.

"Thanks a lot Sherlock,"he gave a manly pat before continuing,"I'm trying. Really am, but I haven't had much practise at it."

"I know John, that's why I'm helping you so you can help me. A partnership works two ways or else it would just fall a part. Now, start with the first photograph. Describe the obvious then we'll work down to the details."

After a few moments of shuffling papers, John finally handed Sherlock the photo and started describing the 'obvious things' guiding his fingers over each object mentioned.

"Good,"Sherlock encouraged then fired question after question forcing John to reexamine the photo in a whole new perspective,"Now what about the lighting of the area? From what angle and what about the shadows? The scratch marks? Which way? Where is the most pressure applied, and why? Do they follow the grooves or go against it, why? Always ask WHY?

Lestrade couldn't help but think about how inept the Yard really was,"Maybe Sherlock is right, we really do ned him to help us when we're 'out of our depths, which is always'. Heaven help us if he ever hears that he is right. I'll never live it down."

They repeated the whole intense questioning process with all the other evidence catalogued on this particular case. Now they were at a standstill, despite their efforts. No headway had been made, it was a depressing end for all their hard work.

"What about the witness from earlier?" John suggested finally, "She may know something."

"She does." Lestrade further supplied,"It was she who informed us for this. She's quite frighten, especially now with all this attention on her family."

"Obviously, she did tell," he snapped a bit too sharply, but he really couldn't help it. Sherlock's annoyance grew, this case was beginning to infuriate him.

_Leave it to the Yard to omit information like that and expect me to solve the case for them. I may be better at solving crimes and catching murders than they are, but even I need something to work with._

"Well? What are we waiting for? Where is she? I need information from her. You know as well as I do that she omits information from you lot," he finished with an eye roll at the DI who just scoffed sadly in return for another abusive insult.

"Come on then. Let's go meet with her and get it straightened out then," John added quickly whilst dragging Sherlock out of the office before he could make any more rude comments. Lestrade gave a grateful smile, John seemed to be the only man that could control Sherlock's terrible behaviour.

* * *

"You know, you could try being nice. Less insults and sarcasm, just say thing plainly. Lestrade is a good man to include you in these things. Might work to your benefit to think kindly of him," advised John whilst leading them through a maze of desks and chairs.

_If only you knew John. Knew how much you, Lestrade, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson mean to me._

"I'll keep that in mind, but no promise John." Sherlock simply answered.

* * *

As soon as the five persons settled in one of the conference rooms, the witness didn't waste a moment's time for formalities before launching into a detailed explanation of everything. She took his hands in hers and began signing rapidly. John and Lestrade were thankful of the interpreter's fine skills as the other two kept conversing without a second thought to the fact not all in the room could understand. Sherlock and the witness acted as if they were to only two on the whole planet. He tuned out the interpreter's voice, and she turns her chair to his directly to minimise the other distractions in the room. The two went back and forth nonstop, signing didn't require breathing thus it was just a stream of signs. At first the witness released her hands from his when he responded, but later on their hands remained on top of each other. It saved time between the exchange. Lestrade jotted down a few key points that he would research later in conjunction with the pre-existing information, but John wasn't as focused.

"I suppose it is like this all the time for them. The table has turned on us now. We are what they are," John mused, zoning out the interpreter's crisp voice.

_I can understand why they ignore us right now. It feels like being in a foreign country and not understanding a single thing, like if I went to Asia. I would be so lost. Neither able read nor write either, I would be completely confused. It is a good deal we made, beneficial for all of us in learning both BSL and Braille. Mary and Molly included. We three, in a way, will be like Sherlock in knowing more than just English.**_

_It makes me think of this one time when my sister dragged me to watch Little Mermaid. I was six, I didn't have a choice. I didn't really care for that one at all. Princesses and all all that sparkly stuff. Just not a guy's thing, besides it doesn't teach a good lesson. Ariel was disobedient so wreaked havoc for her family, then her father gave her what she always wanted. Well that's beside the point, my sister mentioned about that one part where she and the prince are together in the boat with the signing sea creatures (definitely not a guy thing!) She said, 'Imagine if they knew sign language. The story would have been quite different. Don't you think, little Johnny? I wonder how.' I imagine it would be quite different."_

John focused his gaze on the two deep in conversation. Sherlock seems so comfortable right there, conversing with the witness.

_I don't think he's ever been this receptive to dealing with victims or witnesses, but here he is doing just that. Shockingly enough, not a single insult has left his lips from the time he's met her. Quite the achievement for him considering his usual antics._

* * *

"Well, I think that all for now. Lestrade," Sherlock flung his hand lazily toward the man, "I trust you'll make good use of the information you just heard here?"

"Yea, I hope so. Well thanks to you and you," pointing to the witness, "for giving more details on this. We'll be as quick as we can. I'll call you."

Sherlock stood up and straightened his suit jacket. "Good. John?" he prompted.

"Yep. Right here. So now this is the waiting time, what do you want to do?" He brushed his finger quickly across Sherlock's arm to let him know where he stood. Without catching anyone's eye on the subtle movement, Sherlock slid his shoe until it was parallel and touching John's.

"Good. Since the Yard is going to be swarmed with information to work with, something that I hope they will be able to sort through, Sherlock commented sarcastically, "and the witness will returning home, I suggest we do the same. Unless you have something better to suggest?

"Uhh...guess not, going home is a good idea," John was slightly taken aback with suddenly being questioned. Usually Sherlock just ordered people around and expected him to follow, this was different. "Well. Thanks for your time and everything,"nodding and signing 'thank you' to the other three who had patiently spent quite a considerable about of time with them.

Everyone exited the room and went their separate ways with hearts in hope of something positive very soon, but now they needed patience.

* * *

**A-N: I was a bit stuck on writing this chapter, so I updated my other one and added a new one. Thanks for being patient! Sorry it took so long. Thank you for all the guest reviews.**

****While it may not be entirely the same feeling for all, but Sign Language many times IS a person's mother tongue. English (or any other one) is often the second because of going to school and learning it. The same with any two languages, one will always be more dominant even if the person is fluent in both. Many who are deaf read and write very well, but to them it would make more of an impact if the material was in SL. Each person has their own preferences.**


	16. The Unexpected Package

**Chapter 15**

* * *

_Everyone exited the room in Scotland Yard and went their separate ways with hearts in hope of something positive very soon, but now they needed patience._

* * *

"Mrs. Hudson, has the post arrived yet?" Sherlock bellowed as he bounded up the steps eagerly as John followed behind eyeing him critically. There was always the chance of slipping. Going up was considerably easier than coming down Sherlock offhandedly announced to his doctor one day as they left for a crime scene.

It was exactly ten steps from the front door to the banister and fourteen steps up that led into his previous flat- 221B. If he kept walking he would need to take three small right turning steps put him at the base of the flight leading to his current flat of 221C.

_John counted._

_John walked with his eyes closed around his room sometimes._

_John didn't want to just imagine it, he wanted to know what it felt like too._

_He wanted to show empathy._

_Sherlock would never know what John did, and John would never tell._

Things were looking better for Sherlock. Really. Literally. The flat was sparsely reorganised so it would be less hazardous for walking about given the man's usual state of keeping the flat in a near-shambles appearance.

Receiving no answer from said landlady, Sherlock paused at the threshold of the sitting room and debated whether to belt out the request at top volume again, or have John go find the package - if it had even arrived at all.

_Really?! It has been nearly five whole days. Mycroft sure is loosing his sense of annoying meddling in my affairs._

He made his way to his chair and only clipped his shin into the coffee table instead of falling on it like the previous times. It certainly wasn't life-threatening or really require any medicinal care for it, but it did show how much Sherlock still needed to learn.

John anticipated his best friend's thoughts, "Don't get worked up about it. Happens to all of us. Do you want me to go ask Mrs. Hudson about the package?"

"Yes."

* * *

As soon as John turned his heels, Sherlock pulled out his phone and put on one of the earphones, then started navigating around his phone via the automated voice. Apple's Voice-Over feature for their I-devices was probably the best thing they made since the invention of this device that captured a great deal of humankind** To that much of their credit would Sherlock give the company, all else he views at non-important information worthy of retention. With a little bit of trial and error throughout the past months and several hours later of practising on some very unwilling participants and their poor mobiles that kept buzzing. _John. Molly. Mary. Lestrade. _Sherlock was able to be quite productive with his mobile.

It seemed that turning the devices off hardly made a difference in the number of messages each of the four persons receive at some unconventional hour in the wee morning. Sherlock finally mastered the art of texting Lestrade at lightning speed-much to the chagrin of said man because the consulting detective's only message was about the cases in some form or fashion.

The text today was as follows in all separate messages sent within a minuet of the mobile being in Sherlock's hand:

CASE TODAY. -SH

NEWS? -SH

FIND ANYTHING? -SH

USEFUL? -SH

YET? -SH

BORED. HURRY UP. -SH

TEXT FOR RELAYING INFORMATION. -SH

TODAY WOULD BE NICE. -SH

Sherlock didn't need to see the words printed on the screen to know just how annoyed Lestrade was. He smirked nonetheless. The amount of repeated punctuation marks might have been an excellent indicator on the rather long return message, but few people hardly used proper etiquette or grammar in texting nowadays. He couldn't be too certain of Lestrade's intended meaning. It was hard to deduce the "sentimental aspects" over text messaging especially with a dull British automated voice reader.

ABSOLUTELY NOT SHERLOCK! ! ! DONT SEND ME A MILLION ONE-WORDED MESSAGES! ! ! IT IS ANNOYING. I WILL CALL WHEN WE HAVE SOMETHING.

BESIDES. YOU "just" LEFT THE YARD NOT THAT LONG AGO. BE PATIENT! ! !

GO DO SOMETHING ELSE UNTIL I HAVE ANSWERS. PREFERABLY SOMETHING SAFE AND INTELLIGENT. SOMETHING THAT DOES NOT INVOLE EXPLOSIONS OR SUFFOCATING FUMES! THINK SAFETY OF OTHERS! I KNOW YOUR BRAIN CAN UNDERSTAND THAT. -L.

Sherlock sighed, rolled his eyes and tossed his phone on the table.

_Some things just don't change..._

He sat for a moment more contemplating what else he might find interest in before his brain rotted from idleness.

_Oh the horrors if that should ever come to..._

* * *

In midst of that thought John came up stairs with a medium sized parcel nicely taped up and, sure enough, directed to a "Mr. S. Holmes."

"Well. Here's your package you're so eager to know about." John announced and he strode over in a couple large steps.

The package landed with a soft thud next to said man's phone.

"So. You going to open it Sherlock?" John prompted as he took his usual seat.

"Obviously John. I wouldn't just have a package for nothing. Now would I?"

His fingers found the box and eagerly tore off a nice long string of tape before depositing it on the floor. Then ungracefully dumped out all the packaging crumbs over the tape. John shook his head in disgust at sight of the littering. Sherlock certainly wasn't going to clean it- not chance that will ever happen in the near future.

Inside the box folded up neatly was a white sword in plastic wrapping. He stripped away the wrapping, but this time carefully folded it and laid it aside. Then he ran his hands over it, noting every turn and twist of it. Three folds to be precise. Three folds of equal length.

It was a magnificent piece of work. Even gilded in red at the tip.

John watched the whole process in silence, only making mental notes about Sherlock's expression as he discovered more and more of it. At last he decided it was appropriate to comment, "Wow. Sherlock. I had no idea. When did you arrange for this? It is very nice looking."

"About a week ago. Mycroft announced himself here and demanded to have the business not delay any longer," Sherlock unfolded the sword to half its length and stabbed the rug softly repeatedly.

"That's thoughtful of him. Do you know how to use this though? Mycroft provide some sort of training resource?" John ventured on. He was genuinely curious of Sherlock's gift and Mycroft's intentions. No doubt his intentions would be the best, but John felt he might have been pulled in to a part of it unknowingly.

"Well, not exactly training, but I have been briefed on its intents, purposes, and uses. I wouldn't find it too difficult. Don't worry, you're not being replaced or shoved aside. I'd still want my doctor at my side."

John laughed. He didn't know whether to feel honoured or insulted or perhaps both at Sherlock's comparison of him to the newly acquired sword,"Thanks Sherlock. I guess?" Only one man could speak like that.

"Take it as a compliment John. You know very well what I mean by my words. I don't speak praise often, so take it when it comes." John muttered his appreciation.

"Here." Sherlock held it out to him, "I also know that you're wanting to examine the craftsmanship, but wouldn't dare ask right away. Something to say about ethics and courtesies, I would think. Do so anyway. It matters not to me away, those trivial things."

"How do you always manage to do that all the time?" Sherlock merely smirked and said nothing. John accepted the offer and turned it over in his hands gently. It really was fine craftsmanship. Light but study and lasting. Exactly what every sword needs.

"It annoys me to no end, and probably all of Scotland Yard more so. Granted, it is good, useful, and very interesting sometimes perhaps lay off until its for a case, eh? Well, how about a cuppa and some dinner then? We've got nothing planned for the night, it'll be a nice change of things. Mary might come down for a bite too. Want to try it out later on?"

"Yes to tea and tonight's activities." Sherlock replied absentmindedly.

John handed it back and headed over to set the kettle as Sherlock took to examining with a more detailed hand. Now the question remains as how to actually wield this thing effectively, he was a bit apprehensive in all honesty.

John returned with and set it on the crowded table. Then decided he would go visit Mary and discuss the evening arrangements before coming back and figuring out something to eat. But of course Sherlock heard none of John's explanation for the evening, for he was already locked in his Palace filling away information.

* * *

**A-N: Most sorry for the terribly long delay in updating. I never intended for it to happen, but I was away at a training course. After I returned from that, I got rather sick and didn't have much time to write. **

****Voice Over is amazing! Even though it is listed under Accessibility in the Setting, it isn't only intended for those with no/limited vision. If you have an I-device, you can fiddle around with it. Remember those slider/flip phone with actual keys that you could text under the table without looking? With some practise, you can do that with voice over too. (I'm not a huge Apple fan or of the whole revolution of mobiles, but it slowly grew on me.)**


	17. Making Concessions

**Chapter 16**

* * *

_John returned with and set it on the crowded table. Then decided he would go visit Mary and discuss the evening arrangements before coming back and figuring out something to eat. But of course Sherlock heard none of John's explanation for the evening, for he was already locked in his Palace filling away information._

* * *

"Sherlock," John strode into the room and called out his name nicely, pulling the man out of the reverie in his Palace, "Mary had previous plans with Molly so we're going together for supper. The four of us. It's up to you to decide the restaurant. So, where to tonight?"

"Case. I don't eat, you know that. Go away!" came the terse reply from that man who hadn't so much as moved a muscle from his place in the chair the moment John left, which was hours ago.

He had spent the time alone filing away all pertinent information regarding "Mycroft's Unwanted Help", namely, the repulsive package he received this afternoon. Granted, he was mildly interested in it, that he wouldn't deny, but loathed the fact of his brother coercing him into doing things he didn't want to.

_Mycroft shouldn't be poking his nose into my personal affairs! It wreaks havoc for the international business. He should know better! Anyway, I don't need this. I'm perfectly fine without it. I have John, Molly,and Mary. I despise the fact of everything that wretched "thing" is associated with. Pitiful looks and murmurs. People! The unintelligent things that they say or do whenever they see the "stick", I shudder at the mere thought of it!_

"Go find something entertaining to do alone, I'm busy." He pulled his dressing gown tighter and ducked his head into his knees attempting to block out the noise.

"Not an option," Molly interjected firmly. "You are going to eat tonight. You are coming out with us tonight." She crossed her arms and shifted to lean left. Mary picked up the rest of the sentence and matched Molly in her tone of voice,"Yes, and you're not to stay in the flat tonight doing who knows what. So think of some place sensible to eat. Come. Get up. Get dressed. We're leaving in five minuets. No arguing."

Sherlock did not move.

He was biding his time, counting how far he could push the limit with Mary. Apparently, he didn't have more than five seconds because she easily pried him out of the chair and turned him to face his room.

"Be ready. Five minuets. No exceptions. Hurry."

He sighed dramatically and deliberately sauntered ever so slowly to his room whilst flailing widely his arms at his side like he had wings.

* * *

Exactly four minuets and fifty seconds later, Sherlock emerged donned in his signature apparel and promptly flopped on the sofa lengthwise with a muffled groan at the same time. The others were in waiting in the hallway at the stair landing, but John heard his flatmate's rebellious behaviour so went to drag him out.

"Good you're ready. Now let's go." John pushed the new gift of Mycroft's in his best friend's hand and pulled him to stand.

"John," he hissed dangerously low with a pointed look to match the intensity of the hiss, "I meant what I said earlier. You are not being replaced. I don't need this. I don't want this. It is all Mycroft's doing. He insisted upon it. I am NOT bring in it! Using it. Need it. Whatever. I'm perfectly capable without this horrid thing! You're coming with me. I won't _ever_ need it." He forced it hard back into John's hand then turned away to the window with his fists firmly jammed in his pockets.

"Sherlock. Don't do this now. Come on, please? You said you wanted to try it out tonight. Remember?" John pleaded then cautiously touched Sherlock's wrist, pulling it from the pocket and gently placed the offending object back in the palm. "Just take it with you. Keep it in your coat pocket. No one knows about this, save you, me, and Mycroft. It can stay that way if you want it to. I didn't even breathe a hint to Mary. Besides, you never know when you might really need it, I won't always be at your side Sherlock. You know , what if something happens on a case and we are separated? What would happen then? What if it was in a dark alley, heaven forbid, what then? I'd feel more comfortable with you just taking it around as 'extra weight' and never using it. Please?" John closed Sherlock's fingers over it and pressed the precious object toward the man himself.

"Very well." He sighed dejectedly, "I'll do it to make you feel better and you do make a valid argument about the cases," he tucked away the article on the inside pocket of the coat, then righted seams of his turned up collar. "Still, this does not give you the liberty to just run off with Mary whenever you feel like it." He glared in John's direction.

John laughed, even if it was his friend's attempt at a petty joke at his expense. "Course not. Never. If it is for a case, I'd never leave you alone. Who knows what terrors might come from your insults to the Yard!?"

It didn't matter if the joke was on him. The fact was Sherlock made a light about the situation. He could actually make things humorous instead of taking it on with dread. John feel more at ease knowing Sherlock at least accepted the thought, but coming to actually using it would be another adventure for another day. That day would come for a certainly. Maybe it would come tonight. Maybe it would come later, heaven forbid, actually during a case in the worst possible moment.

* * *

The foursome exited the flat in a calmly manner with the ladies linked in arms walking in front, and the best friend holding onto the forearm of his best friend. It was decide tonight would be the type of night to try the new Spanish restaurant a few streets over. Apparently, the comments from food critics said the meals were of good quality and still retained the authentic home-styled quality.

It was a good choice for all, especially to the picky eater's liking. Three of the four didn't know what the place offered on the menu, and one of the four couldn't read the menu due to the dim lighting and small print. Thus, everyone had to inquire about the restaurant's selection and what might pique each one's appetite, including the one who refused to eat. He became genuinely interested the featured signature dishes after the captivating aroma of other dishes filled the small dining area.

Sherlock was grateful his cover still stood, and John was ever so grateful the poor young waitress was spared a verbal stripping of her entire life story simply based on the way she did up her hair.

The night was off to a good start. That was a good sign.

Overall the meal and discussion was mostly decent, well, as decent as one would gauge the decency of 'morgue related topics and news with Scotland Yard' etiquette. The three conversationalist were cognisant of not letting the conversation stray south into any dangerous and sensitive waters. It would have certainly spoiled the ambiance for the quiet one.

"So. Molly," Mary stated tentatively, trying to pick up the awkward silence that lingered after her husband made an offhanded compliment about the two single persons at the table, which earned him a menacing scowl from a particular someone. "Tell us about the autopsy you were working on today. You said it was interesting. I never heard the rest of the story. Go on and finish Molly."

"Well," Molly rubbed her face in hopes it would help the redness disappear faster," It came in that morning and I started working on it like usual, but then..." Soon the pathologist soon slipped back into a comfortable feeling and had the whole table engrossed on her every word. Eventually the table had tossed around a few speculations about the strange autopsy which ended in some rather silly and juvenile jokes. Even Sherlock partook of the crazy antics, that pleased the other diners immensely.

"So what now? It's a lovely evening," Mary asked as the plates were cleared and were just slowly sipping away their drinks, "Fancy a walk?"

"Sure why not!" Pipped in the other two.

Didn't take a genius to figure out who was less than thrilled about going out after dinner. He scowled in disdain and crossed his arms in a huff at the mere thought of going anywhere but home.

* * *

**A-N: **

**My courses have begun again. How lovely! (Not really) **

**The Unforgettable File ****will have Chapter 2 posted soon. It will not be a very long story. **

**Thank you as always for your lovely comments (guest too!), favourites, follows. I do respond to comments. **


	18. Some Chocolate and Stars for Tonight

**Chapter 17**

* * *

_Sure why not!" Pipped in the other two. Didn't take a genius to figure out who was less than thrilled about going out after dinner. He scowled in disdain and crossed his arms in a huff at the mere thought of going anywhere but home. _

* * *

It was assumed a leisurely stroll though the park was to follow the dinner.

But.

No.

That was part of the plan.

Plans are always boring.

Spontaneous is so much more exciting.

* * *

Just as the foursome passed by a local grocer's market, Sherlock suddenly demanded he needed to stop inside and pick up a few crucial items. It puzzled everyone as to what "crucial items" he was referring to, nonetheless, they walked in and went their separate ways.

The two men didn't even make ten step in the door before they started bickering back and forth like children about their personal shopping preferences and basket fetishes (as if Sherlock actually had shopping preferences).

Molly and Mary left the goons to themselves and started had browsing around the other aisles, just aimlessly looking at produce and fruits. Mainly they just wanted some place to discuss their concerns about Sherlock in private.

"How do you think he is really feeling?" Mary asked as she absentmindedly rolled a couple apples around her palms.

"I don't know, honestly. He isn't one to proclaim his personal well-being to everyone exactly," Molly took the fruit from her hands and put them back on the shelf. Mary didn't realise she was still holding them, "In fact, I think he sometimes denies the whole ordeal of it. Or at least tries to. Really, it's very sad to watch his struggle with it, but there is small improvement. So that's good. Has John noted anything interesting about Sherlock's mannerisms or actions he told you?"

"I concur, and there isn't too much we can help him with when its a battle against himself. Not really, he only tells me a few things sparsely decorated with details. Most of what he says I already observed: like how Sherlock only wants John to take them places, not Lestrade or anyone else that might be at the Yard. Or how he likes certain possessions in the flat to be arranged specifically. I suppose, it's their guy thing as best friends to have some words never travel to other ears. I understand though, I really wouldn't want them to know about our conversations."

The two continued on idly down to the aisle of dry good before stopping at the section with the assortment of biscuits.

"Yea. I understand, but twice he allowed me to take his hand for a brief moment so he could walk to the far side of the laboratory. It was during when those two came in for doing experiments on the present case. I think John was getting us drinks at that moment, or something like that, so it was just him and me going through the lab printouts. Anyway, I thought it was good of him, allowing himself to branch out. Accepting other's offer of assistance."

Mary softly uttered her approval coupled with an expression that held quite a lot more approval than her words did subtlety suggesting he branch out more...

The two kept looking through the rows of biscuits, trying to decide which delicious kind they wanted. After all, expecting mothers should be allowed certain trivial grievances. Molly knew that and happily conceded to helping the young mum-to-be. Their conversation soon morphed into a similar version the men were having earlier, except it was an animated discussion on which were their favourite brands and flavours.

* * *

Meanwhile, on the other end of the shop a totally different conversation was taking place.

For the few strange late-shoppers meandering through, they might have concluded the two men were perhaps relatives or from a step-family with the amount of witty and sarcastic jibes in their lively banter. In all honestly, they might have been right. Those two were as thick as thieves. Hardly ever apart and when something happened. It was the fault of both, not just one.

A chocolate themed intense discussion.

Intense discussion.

The man-child wanted chocolate.

_Of all thing... Chocolate! It better not be used for experiment!_

"Really? Was the man ill? Is the world about to end? Sherlock at the market actually acting in a civil manner!?" John stood puzzled, tapping his foot impatiently whilst trying to contemplate the logic with his friend's odd behaviour. Granted he was used to the behaviour being odd, but this was nearing "too odd" borderlining "insane".

_"He despises going to places, much less make the effort of buying things. This must be part of some devious plan of his that usually goes south even before it even starts."_

"John! Stop asking me the same thing over and over. You know I hate sounding like a broken record," Sherlock and John stood in the middle of the main aisle separating the goods from the chip and pin machines, "Yes! I'm actually in the this detestable place, right now, right here with you standing next to me- pestering me with your incessant murmmuring on how strange this is. Now, enough of this. What's the layout of here, you should know, don't you? You 'are' the one that does the shopping usually. "

John opened his mouth to spout off a smart comment but decided against, instead he obediently took them to the proper aisle.

"Should I be worried that this chocolate will be the catalyst in an kitchen experiment explosion?" John asked skeptically as he handed over the requested brand and flavours. "It won't be melted then injected with some obscure little deadly poison, like curare, will it? In case you don't know, I do eat chocolate and am actually quite fond of it. I'd really like to make the 'Death by chocolate' NOT come true."

"I'll tell you what it's for later. Don't worry. I won't poison you again. I promised. Remember? You know, the whole Missing Wednesday incident." Sherlock replied nonchalantly as they joined the women who were waiting at the door with their little stash of goodies.

* * *

It wasn't normal at all for Sherlock to be out at night especially if it was non-case related, but there he was as so after much persuasion and a slight detour. Times change and so did he. The four were out in the evening (finally) taking a stroll around the park, and enjoying the cool breeze that blew every now and then on the pleasant spring night.

Molly and Mary fell in step behind the men who were discussing the latest news received from the witness that afternoon. According to John, Molly explained to Mary, the case was in the lull right before the big break. Something crucial was missing that neither Sherlock nor the Yard could pinpoint. It was aggravating them.

"Poor chaps, they work so hard. Too hard sometimes." Molly voiced her genuine concern in barely above a whisper to which Mary added in her agreement. They didn't want extra ears in their tête-à-tête conversation.

Mary smiled and sighed contently at the sight of her two favourite men chatting away as if John had never married her, she actually and honestly didn't mind it that way. John was a good and loyal husband, but he was also a very loyal best friend to Sherlock. To that she would never deny him.

The two men were in a deep discussion about the missing link for the present case. Sherlock had his left hand on John's forearm, so used his right hand to talk with animatedly.

"Something is missing! I don't get it! John, tell me again the details. It must be so obviously that I'm completely overlooking."

"Ok, well first, there was the female victim in that raggedy house with the deaf witness, who later came and provided more information. Now someone is being held hostage with a puzzling ransom note. There were also the photographs which showed..."

As John reiterated the whole account of this frustrating case, Sherlock turned over each fact in his mind to analyse from all possible angles. Still, he couldn't find the missing link. His brow knitted in frustration even more.

John observed his best friend's eyes darting all over the place as he saw each piece of information in his Mind Palace. It fascinated him to no end, knowing how someone could merely file away and draw up information as if it was a real piece of paper in a filing cabinet.

"Sherlock, don't think too hard. It'll show up when you're not so focused on it. Remember the case with the code in London A-Zed, and the underground terrorist group really being The Underground terrorist group?" Sherlock agreed to taking John's advise.

"You make a good point. So, what do you think is the issue then? Lestrade has yet to reply with anything helpful, but you know how that goes. The Yard is rarely useful to things of this nature."

Soon the conversation fell into a lull, and the two walked on in companionable silence. The words spoken was of John telling Sherlock they would climb a short hill just left of the main pathway. Other than that, they climbed in silence. The two ladies didn't follow. They didn't want to intrude and feigned an interest in flowers as their excuse.

* * *

John and Sherlock trekked up the gentle slope of the short hill, then out of the blue he asked as they reached the apex, "It's a very nice night. Cool breeze and all. The stars are out tonight. Can you see the stars shinning brightly tonight?"**

Sherlock looked at John, and said plainly without the slightest sort of any emotional tinge in his voice simply, "No. Not anymore, but I could three days ago."

The seriousness of Sherlock's truthful answer pained him to think, "What is there to say in response to an answer like that?"

Nothing.

Absolutely Nothing.

Neither gave way to emotions. They just stood side by side without saying anything for a long time.

John stared up at the vast expanse of darkness. Sherlock stared ahead into a different vast expanse of darkness.

They were pondering.

Contemplating the deeper things of life. Contemplating every single point in their lives that led to them to standing on this hill, on this very night where the stars shone like diamonds against a black velvet curtain.

_Their first meeting with Mike at the lab room of St. Bart' first case dealing with too much pink and John's never-to-be-mentioned-again heroic deed fired until he was in danger. Something that was lumped in the same category of "The Two Years". Then came along Mary. She brought along so much excitement, yet Sherlock grew to care for her just like he cared for John, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson._

* * *

After what seemed like an eternity, Sherlock tapped John's arm bringing the man out of his deep thoughts.

"Let's go." He said said softly as he unfolded his red-tipped white Excalibur letting the tip hit the grass with a muffled thud, "Speak of that bit to no one John, to no one. Will you do that for me?"

"Of course Sherlock, I promise." John positioned himself on the left side of the man and led them down the hill to rejoin Mary and Molly.

If Sherlock was ready to tell the world, so be it. He could do as he wished, but John was thrilled at seeing once loathed object in his best friend's hand without him even mentioning it.

The women weren't engrossed in admiring the sporadic patches of flowers decorating the park, or some other girly thing. The two saw them coming down, and greeted them at the foot of the hill each with a hug. Molly and John silently traded places.

No one said anything about what they saw. No one wanted nor dared to for fear of scaring the turtle into hiding again, yet they smiled at the sighted of it. Mycroft might even have been secretly doing a dance in his head for being proud of his baby brother, if he was in their company.

"Do you want to finish the circle around the park or head home? It's getting late." Mary asked to no one in particular, she knew better than to ask what happened on the hilltop directly. In truth, neither women were looking at flowers, and John had suspected that too. Something else held their attention captive. Something more important than flowers. They had been watching intently the private conversation from down hill and could only speculate.

"We'll walk still," Sherlock answered sharply whilst quickening his pace.

Molly fell into step two strides later. The brisk pace quickly put them several steps ahead of the Watsons, who were sauntering slowly hand in hand having another tête-à-tête.

"Is everything alright? You seem unsettled. Do you want to tell me?" Molly sensed the negative energy emanating from his mannerism, particularly his stiff and quick walking. She couldn't tell if it was his latest addition, or if was just his behaviour that made his stride less smooth, but something was obviously eating way at him.

"Yes. Perfectly fine," he lied despite knowing it was a futile attempt.

Molly turned to face him and placed her hands over both of his, forcing him to stop walking, "Sherlock, don't do this. We've had this discussion before, remember? If something is the matter, we tell each other not just keeping it to ourselves. Please? Say what you're feeling."

"All right. You win." He freed his right hand from her firm grip and continued walking, then unexpectedly he stopped and looked at her, "Molly, the stars tonight."

"Yes, the stars, what about them?"

"They are not there for me any more, Molly", Sherlock looked away and fiddle with grooves of the black grip on the cane, he didn't know what else to say. Just like how John had acted, Molly didn't know what to say in response, so they continued walking silently. She was taken aback by such a comment said so unexpectedly.

Finally she thought of something, "Sherlock, would you like me to tell you about them tonight?"

He nodded. "Always. Every night."

It didn't matter if he physically couldn't see them any longer, so as long as Molly described them to him. Stars and the solar system were never his particular favourites, but he did enjoy them and still wanted to.

As she painted the evening landscape for him, he began to appreciate that the solar system was something that should be appreciated, even if it did take up precious space in his storage unit. The moment was perfect. Molly voicing her admiration of everything she saw and Sherlock secretly pleased to hear her just ramble aimlessly, then his phone sounded with an incoming message breaking the ambiance.

THE YARD. TOMORROW MORNING. DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT DO NOT COME TONIGHT. NO ONE IS THERE! IN CASE YOU DON'T KNOW, NOW YOU DO. -Lestrade

With everyone informed of the message, they cut their stroll short and took taxis back to their respective living places. Sherlock didn't even try wiping his Cheshire Cat grin off his face on the whole ride home.

_Finally it's getting somewhere! This is good! Very good. I think John says that, right?_

* * *

****The discussion of stars is an excerpt from the story entitled "The Stars are Shining Tonight" including the idea behind that story.**

**A-N: Thank you for your patience and your continuous comments. This is a bit longer than usual. Enjoy! **


	19. Let's Go Suspect-Hunting!

**Chapter 18**

* * *

_With everyone informed of the message, they cut their stroll short and took taxis back to their respective living places. Sherlock didn't even try wiping his Cheshire Cat grin off his face on the whole ride home. _

_Finally it's getting somewhere! This is good! Very good. I think John says that, right? _

* * *

The two men sauntered into the Yard's 3rd floor housing the open cubicles and Lestrade's private office. Sherlock had returned to trusting John rather than using Mycroft's gift. Using it at the park was perhaps just a spur of the moment impulsive thought, John reasoned to himself.

A slight pause in Sherlock's progress in John's eyes. It wasn't a regression of progress. Hardly so! As he had faithfully done so in the past, the present time would not be any different: John wouldn't abandon his best friend his own ways.

The package his brother sent was bugged. No, not in the sense of technological ways, rather it held a more powerful system than any man-made one. This was an in-born one, for this unique present brought out unexpected emotional triggers when used. Neither Sherlock nor John had anticipated such a response.

Sherlock habitually blocked out and tried diligently to repress his feelings, but when griping the life out of the white carbon fibre, it was a mixed sensation of freedom and terror that tingled in his hand. The white symbol served a double meaning to him.

The freedom.

Freedom in the sense he had the ability to do as he pleased without having to rely on others, and more importantly, to return to his ways as if this "little inconvenience" was nothing more than that. In time, his friends hoped he would view the conditions as such, but all good things take time. Much time.

Yet, Fear tagged behind Freedom. It wasn't much fear, but it certainly could have made even the bravest of ones a bit timid taking on adventures all alone.

_That's why I have John. John is brave and trustworthy. John is more trustworthy that this stick! Sure, it may come be of some use on a case, and eventually I will be forced to used it regularly. I shudder at the mere thought of that date, but that's not now. That is later. Much later, I hope. _

_Why rush? There's no benefit of it to anyone, especially me, I would think. John promised he would never abandon me. I have no reason to ever doubt his words, after all, he is a man of his word and his good ethics wouldn't allow such an action._

* * *

That "stick" or "Mycroft's meddling", as so affectionately termed, was always said with every bit of sarcastic disdain Sherlock's voice could produce. The end of the cane was large and bulky making it fit uncomfortably inside the coat pocket, jabbing his ribs even in the slightest movements. Sherlock thought about giving in and using it.

_No. I refused to be defined by what I lack! People do that already to each other, defining them by what they have-whether physically or materially. I refuse such torture. _

With the little soapbox speech going on in Sherlock's mind, he didn't realise he was just standing against the wall of of Lestrade's office (obviously waiting for the DI to show up) glaring intently at nothing in particular until John had asked why he looked so angry. The truth could not be revealed to his best friend, so Sherlock just fibbed a lame excuse of practising his "threatening looks".

"Good of you to come so early, we finally are making headway with this case," Lestrade greeted them at last whilst handing each a cup of steaming coffee.

"Here's the file," he pulled out a thick stack of papers and selected several pages, "We've reviewed the information and scouted about the records. Came up with a list of names that may have some interest to the captor's connection with the family. Figured you two would like to check some of these people, or at least help us narrow down the list."

"With pleasure," came the reply lace with an inappropriate amount of happiness attached to it. "John?"

"Right. First on the list is man living not too far away from the victim and hostages's place that..."

"No. Innocent. Next!" Sherlock cut in before John had a chance to finish reading off half of what was in the man's file.

This procedure went on for a good hour until the list finally came down to six persons that might have something connected with the case.

* * *

"Ready? Shall we go?" John ventured, donning on his coat and offering his arm taking. Sherlock accepted the offer, and talked nonstop about the details of every single thing and every single person in the list they just reviewed. Lestrade was more focused on driving rather than understanding the the incessant rambling from the back seat delivered at lightening speed. He somehow managed to tune it out and started admiring the busy streets filled with various things...

_oh look, aren't the clouds nice today..._

"Alright. Here we are, first one on the list. Why don't I just meet the owner and then bring you two in a minuet. Don't want to scare him away into hiding." A relieved Lestrade turned around to receive acknowledgment of his suggestion, but before John could add in anything else, Sherlock was already out of the car and a good lengths away from the parking spot.

"That man moves like a cat! Fast and silent! " John mumbled under his breath as he struggled out of his safety belt and took off after the crazy one.

"Sherlock!" The two men yelled as they sprinted after the Consulting Detective, who just so happen to have rounded the corner of the house at that exact moment, and neglected to acknowledge their angry and concerned shouts.

"Great. Just great! Running off without so much as a warning to his friend. And he worries I will be the running off to Mary. The nerve he has!" John fumed as he paused for a moment deciding which direction the insane took.

* * *

**A-N: Many apologies for th long absence. Please don't give up on the story. I will finish it, but it will take some time. Thank your for your continuous interest.**

**If your have updated your chapters, I will write like usual I just haven't been on here to work much at all.**

**Sherlock is not in a life-threatening situation, he just not very good at thinking things through. **


	20. Clearly Something was Bothering Him

**Chapter 20**

* * *

_John scoffed with amusement, "Thanks for the encouragement Sherlock. Really appreciate it. Maybe I'll only miss five next time?"_

_John and Lestrade's laugh drowned out a faint whisper of what was to come that was skilfully laced in between Sherlock's critiques of John's observation skills, "Yes you will John Watson. You will not miss anything. Not one thing. Learn to observes as I do."_

* * *

Shortly after Sherlock and John (because they only work as one- sharing the credit) deduced the poor man's life to shred, he was exactly the man whom everyone was hounding down on. Lestrade called in additional support to take away the criminal.

"Turns out it was a good pick Sherlock, coming to this address. It was just the man we needed." John commented whilst leading them back to Lestrade's panda car.

Sherlock feigned indifference so gazed around aimlessly and nonchalantly responded, "Yes. I suppose it was. Just a matter of thinking the series of event through logically." In truth, he was very glad of finding the right man on the first try, it meant less work in the long run for everyone.

He stopped abruptly and waited for John to face him, then looked straight a the man with a serious expression, "You should know John, you should always have a plan. It's very important. It's logical." His lips twitched in a poor attempt of hiding a devious smirk.

"Of all people to lecture me on planning logically, it would be you. You!" John softly punched Sherlock's arm and guffawed, "Really now, tell me truthfully how you 'always' have a plan and actually follow it. I challenged you to name just once where that actually applied to you."

Again Sherlock feigned a look of deep hurt and pitiful expression , "What now John! I'm shocked at such a response. Be logical. It's so simple, anyone can figure it out. Everything always works out in the end. I don't need to name one occasion, they always do. It always works out to our advantage in the end. I challenge YOU to name one incident that did NOT end well."

This thought stopped halted John's processing for a moment.

_What he says actually does have some truth in it._

However, sentimental points weren't the two men's strong suits, so they dissolved into a fit of hysterics with each consecutive comment more sarcastic and sillier than the previous one until they finally reached the car, and leant against it gasping for breath between the laughter.

* * *

Meanwhile Lestrade had flagged his team down, ordered to meet up at the Yard and get procedures going immediately. The team obliged and pulled away from the house with the man for questioning pouting in the back seat.

Sherlock's words worked wonders on people with his quick and sharp-tongued deductions were nearly always given without having tact or grace, sometime the result of the recipient's actions were unexpected. This middle aged man pouted in the back seat simply because he was not getting his way of he wanted to be taken into further questioning.

Lestrade couldn't help but smile bemusedly at the way this man behaved because it really did seem like a visit in the past. It was almost like a younger version of the brilliant-minded one himself on meeting Lestrade for the very first time. He was argumentative to say the very least, pouting and finally giving in after a long, long discussion.

The inspector looked toward the two men still having fits and mused, "It seemed like aeons ago, but it wasn't really too long ago at all when he and I first met. Wow. Time certainly has changed us, and flown by quickly. It's no wonder the value of John to Sherlock. I've never known friendship to that level. Quite Glad they met."

* * *

John slid in to the seat next to his friend, taking care Sherlock didn't hit his head on the roof of the car, then tapped Lestrade for his attention.

"Hey, mate could you drop us off by the flat before you run your errands? I need to get a few things done now the case is nearly complete." John knew Sherlock wouldn't trouble himself with tedious paper work or other standard procedures for suspects.

Post-case leisure time usual had Sherlock in a joyful mood that typically involved playing the violin with pleasing tones, and with "normal" eating and sleeping behaviours. It would be ideal for the two to discuss what happened previously, John really wanted to know.

Just at Lestrade was about to voice his agreement to the request, Sherlock cut in, "Actually we need to go back to the Yard also. I have some unfinished business there."

Lestrade nodded and turn the ignition as John looked with amazement to Sherlock, still trying to comprehend what he just heard. Sherlock was not one to step out of his way for doing anything out of the usual routine, cases were not an exception.

"Oh, what needs to be done? Usually this is the point where we go home and I force you to sleep and eat properly. What's at the Yard that's unfinished?" John questioned light-heartedly with the intent of receiving a satisfying answer.

"She's there." Sherlock replied bluntly, crossed his arms, then scowled out the window.

The conversation was over.

The entire ride back to the Yard only consider of conversation from John and Greg on aimless subjects whilst Sherlock did not change his position one bit.

* * *

Upon reaching the Yard, Sherlock hastily undid his safety belt and tried to scramble out of the car, but his heavy coat and scarf caught the strap of the belt which delayed his exit. It was just enough time for John to run around the other side and stop his friend from "leaving him in the dust" again.

"Hold on," John laid his hand on the fidgeting man's shoulder, "Stay till, you're just tangling yourself even more. You do deserve it though. Flipping up your collar and always wearing this scarf no matter the weather conditions." Sherlock scoffed at the comment and that made the other two men snicker. In one swift move Sherlock was freed from the belt, he glared and growled at the offending article then spun on his heel to face the door. Before either of the two men could say a word, Sherlock smirked then flipped up his beloved coat collar.

John hung his head down and gave a disapproving shake whilst Lestrade just laughed loudly and clapped John on the shoulder.

"Come along! We don't have all day. Hurry up! John!" Sherlock snapped and didn't wait for a response. He found the door handle and started walking briskly toward the lift whilst discretely trailing his fingertips along the heavily painted and textures walls. It was almost a straight shot from the door to the lifts.

This was another one of Lestrade's favourite moments, watching the two interact in daily functions, again, without need to say more than the necessary few words- just like solving cases. The hive mind never disconnects itself.

Sherlock's differences were never and will never be the focal point of any public event, that was hardly important when weighed again solving cases and chasing down criminals.

"Sherlock, wait for us!"

John quickly fell in step with his friend's walking stride and "accidentally" brushed his hand swiftly over Sherlock's wrist, giving a definite point of where he was standing in relation to Sherlock's side. This gesture allowed him to hold onto John's upper arm at the elbow joint without drawing unnecessary attention from curious onlookers. He knew his friend was still feeling self-conscious on the matter and did his best to not add any extra attention to it.

The two arrived to Lestrade's office and waited for said man to return with the preliminary reports and the person Sherlock mentioned as "She's there."

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for your ****continued interest in this story still and for all your wonderful feedback.**


	21. Some Questions Answered, Some Not Quite

**Chapter 21**

* * *

_John quickly fell in step with his friend's walking stride and "accidentally" brushed his hand swiftly over Sherlock's wrist, giving a definite point of where he was standing in relation to Sherlock's side. This gesture allowed him to hold onto John's upper arm at the elbow joint without drawing unnecessary attention from curious onlookers. He knew his friend was still feeling self-conscious on the matter and did his best to not add any extra attention to it._

_The two arrived to Lestrade's office and waited for said man to return with the preliminary reports and the person Sherlock mentioned as "She's there."_

* * *

Ms. She's There had been summoned and for some odd reason Sherlock couldn't sit still. He kept drumming his fingers on Lestrade's desk then on his own knee. Once that no longer entertained him, the anxious one sought to rearrange his beloved scarf in different forms. First he had it looped in his usual style, then had it tied in a loose knot, then took it off, then put it back on. At one point John felt the urge to strangle his friend with that "cashmere rope", instead just gave the ultimatum not to touch the scarf anymore. ^^

"Sherlock Holmes! What is the matter with you? Why can't you sit still? Is something wrong I should know about, help you out?" John place a hand on Sherlock's shoulder giving it a manly squeeze to stop the man from fidgeting.

"No. No. Perfectly fine. I dislike not being productive, therefore beating out rhythms is keeping my mind somewhat interetained. Really, it's nothing to trouble you with unless you understand British Sign Language, which quite unfortunately you lack sufficent knowledge of for now." Sherlock answered hastily then stood to face to door as he heard Lestrade enter with the young lady associated with the case.

John smiled to himself. He heard more than what Sherlock had spoken.

_You said I lacked knowledge of BSL "for now", this implies that you mean to change that. You haven't mentioned it to me extensively, but I suspect you want me to learn BSL. I gladly will, if you will continue with mastering your next foreign language: Level II Contracted Braille. However, that is besides the point now. This case has you far more excited than I've ever seen on other cases._

John drifted out of his mind's running commentary, and started comprehending Sherlock's words, trying to piece together what he had missed.

"So as you can tell from everything I described to you so far, this is the man who is the cause of all your trouble," Sherlock and the young lady had their hands laces in each other as he animatedly signed into her palms, and spoke for Lestrade's understanding, "Not to worry, Lestrade and his well-trained monkeys will make sure the man will answer for what he's done. Are you good now?"

He stared intently at her, working out all the details his eyes would allow him to analyse. He concluded she was happy. Very happy. Sherlock's deductions were entirely accurate, she vocalised with joyful sounds that made everyone in the room smile. "Thank you so very much, very very much!" Her tactile signing was large and animated, everyone could see just how pleased she was with the whole occasion, "You've been such a great help to me in lots of ways. You know and use my language fluently, that is such a rare trait. I wish there were more people in the world that know Sign Language. It really is unparallel to any written aspect of any language. I can say that because I'm fluent in reading and writing French as well as English %. And now, you also help finish this mystery of mine and promise justice to that despicable man. This is great! Thank you so much."

The entirety of her speech was intended for only Sherlock's understanding, and he knew that so didn't interpret her signs for neither John nor Lestrade. At the end of the discussion, Sherlock gave her one of his rare sincere smiles, thanked her for her expressions, and shook her hand politely.

That smile. The exact smile Sherlock had was special. Lestrade didn't know it, only John did because the last time that exact smile manifested itself was at his wedding reception. Sherlock was lost in the music of his violin, his Estella***, it was the waltz specially composed for the special occasion made him smile. Despite John being preoccupied with sharing the first dance with his beloved new wife, he had caught sight of his best man's expression. It was a genuine smile and not one with sneer or forced. John cherished it.

John knew this young lady meant a lot to Sherlock now, more than he had given credit to in their earlier meetings. Sherlock had scolded him and Lestrade for not understanding and using British Sign Language, engaged in pleasant small talk with her, and now has personally made the effort to inform her of the case's results instead of leaving it to what he refers to as the "trained monkeys".

_She's important to him in some way or another, or maybe it is a mutual feeling. In any case, for Sherlock to show this much personal interest is quite shocking in a good way. I'm pleased that all my nagging, gripping, and lecturing on displaying tact and kindness has actually made it to his mind and is actually applying the information. Bravo to him! _

Sherlock and the young lady had excluded themselves from the other two's company and started conversing in their "secret language". The two kept conversing without a second thought to the fact not all in the room could understand. It was as if they were to only two persons in the room. The two went back and forth nonstop, Sherlock talked about his position as "consulting detective for the Yard" and in return she had several comments and questions for seeking employment in the service of New Scotland Yard. It had always been an interest of hers that she hoped to have come true.

"I suppose it is like this all the time for them, feeling excluded," John whispered to Lestrade, who was always watching the entire conversation without understanding a single part.

"Sight and sound are part of a person's daily life, I suppose sometimes people forget there are differences." Lestrade added, "The table has turned on us now. We are what they are. Excluded. I don't blame them though. Don't you think it would be nice to understand them? Brush-up on sign language I guess, that way I'll be able to communicate with the next deaf person that walks through our Yard doors."

John nodded with agreement and mused on the inspector's words.

"John," Sherlock turned his head toward him but kept his hands still signing, " I believe our work here is completed. Mary is expecting you home shortly I predict according to the mobile's vibrate text alerts. It has vibrated three time since our time here at the Yard. Lestrade, I trust you'll take care of the rest? I did promise her you would do that."

Lestrade laughed and nodded. " Yes, I'll make sure of it personally. If you'll come with me please." He led the young lady out to sort out the remaining details as John took Sherlock to the lifts.

"How did you hear my mobile vibrate? I didn't even feel it and it was on my person?" John asked as soon as they entered the lift and checked his mobile. It confirmed Sherlock's deduction precisely. Mary had sent three separate messages asking about their whereabouts and demanding the two come home for dinner in one piece.

He shrugged indifferently and commented in a nonchalant voice, "I heard it. You didn't feel it. I'm right, aren't I? It is Mary, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes Sherlock," John joked, "You're right, but don't let that go to your head. It's big enough as it is now. C'mon let's go home to a nice delicious hot dinner."

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for reading, commenting, favourite/follow. I appreciate it! **

**^^ please read Chapter 7 - (He's Different: Part I) of "You Have Always Counted to Me" as this is an adaptation of that particular two-part event.**

**% Think of this. Suppose one is able to to read Chinese, Hindi, Burmese... ( or any language that doesn't use the Greek alphabet,) but cannot read aloud because he/she has never heard the pronunciations of those words, yet understands the grammar and is literate. Compare that skill with the deaf and understanding English. They do not know what words sound like, yet they are able to write and read fluently. **

***** please read the single-shot: "A Heart One Would not Expect " as it gives a background to Sherlock's music and his violin, named Estella. Estella means shinning star. Any Charles Dickens readers amongst us? Pip and Estella...**


	22. Closing One Case and Starting Another

**Chapter 22**

* * *

_"How did you hear my mobile vibrate? I didn't even feel it and it was on my person?" John asked as soon as they entred the lift and checked his mobile. It confirmed Sherlock's deduction __precisely. Mary had sent three seperate messages, one asking about their whereabouts and two demanding they come home for dinner in one piece._

_He shrugged indifferently and commented in a nonchalant voice, "I heard it. You didn't feel it. I'm right, aren't I? It is Mary, isn't it?"_

_"Yes, yes Sherlock," John joked, "You're right, but don't let that go to your head. It's big enough as it is now. C'mon, let's go home to a nice delicious hot dinner."_

* * *

Upon entering the flat, the seasoned aroma assalted the men's senses. The hot meal smelled heavenly, Mary had prepared a delicious chicken dinner with some steamed greens mixed with grains. She caught sight of the two coming in as she placed the sizzling bird on the table. "Doctor! Sherlock! You're back just in time. This is wonderful. Go wash your hands and come eat before it gets cold."

John liked it when his wife called him "doctor". It was her pet name for him, she insisted upon it, so he happily agreed to it. "Hello Mary, dinner look and smells amazing. I hope you're not working yourself too hard now." He kissed her forehead before tugging Sherlock's sleeve in attempt to get the man moving.

"Don't worry about me. Go on Sherlock, you have to eat too and I don't want germ-y hands at the table. Run along." Mary shooed them away and turned her attention to finish last minuet dinner preparations.

Each man went to their respective rooms to freshen up, so, as they were otherwise occupied they didn't hear the front door opening to receive another guest, Molly.

Molly, armed with a homemade delicious devil's chocolate cake, slipped unnoticed into the kitchen with Mary.

"Wish I could do that," gesturing to the decorative scalloped icing around the top edge of the divine chocolate goodness, "Just can't. Must be those surgeon hands that can hold still and are very nimble." Mary sighed sadly.

"Oh it's not that," Molly gave her friend a side hug, "I had to practise quite a long time and it's still not right. Just look here where the icing didn't come out smooth. We could have a day of cake baking and decorating, trade tricks and everything. Want to?"

"Want to what?" Sherlock cut in rudely into their conversation, but they were accustomed to it by now, "Molly! You're here." His gazed landed just slightly over her shoulder, but the focus was not trying to find the pathologist with his eyes. Rather, it was trying to understand how and when she arrived without his noticing. Molly stifled a giggle, it amused her when something would slip past the (_her_) consulting detective's knowledge. He would just stand there staring intently at nothing whilst the little gears inside his brain would churn away at top speed blowing off steam trying to connect the dots.

"Mary and I were just discussing a date for our cake baking day. You wouldn't happen to be interested in that, would you?" She teased him kindly and the only response was a look of disdain and sarcastic eye rolling. "So be it then. I suppose if you're going to treat our baking day in that way, you can't have any of the Devil's Chocolate cake I made for tonight."

At mention of (_his_) pathologist's homemade dessert, he suddenly looked remorseful and hastily amended as best as he could because he knew full well how splendid her cooking was. "Well, I suppose it would be agreeable for me to attend this baking function. I'm sure John would be thrilled to stay at home, besides, baking is like chemistry- excepts the results are edible and not fatal if ingested."

"Yes. Quite interested in eating some good non-poisoned food and thrilled to stay home with you," John interjected as he came into the kitchen and stood by his Mary.

"Whatever you say Sherlock," Molly quipped as she ushered him to the dining table. "Let's eat! I'm starving."

* * *

The foursome ate a hearty meal and discussion of the recently completed case had everyone in a jovial mood. The ambiance was extremely pleasant.

"Now who's ready for some cake?" Molly asked knowing the kind of response she would receive. A collection of "yes, please. I'd like a slice," echoed one another.

Sherlock and John smiled to themselves, the best part of any supper were desserts. It is unfortunate that culture dictated desserts are meant to be eaten after the main course, had the men been left to their own devices, who knew the sort of meals they would eat.

"Here you are kids, the chocolate cake is yours. Dig in," Mary joked as she placed a nice sizeable slice in front of them then handed one to Molly.

Sherlock was the first to comment on the fine composition of the cake and first to finish his piece. It came to no surprise that Molly that he described the cake as "a perfectly balanced ratio of chocolate and moisture content in comparison to sweetness level of the icing", in simpler terms it meant Sherlock asked for a second helping. To Molly's extreme pleasure, she placed a generous slice on his plate.

"I'm glad you like it. I always knew you had a soft spot for food, especially unhealthy sweets, despite your constant protest of not wanting to eat."

"No you're wrong, actually it is that I," Sherlock attempted to contradict Molly's statement, but his mouth was currently covered with chocolate icing so that really wasn't helping him win the discussion.

"Sherlock. Just admit it," John slapped Sherlock's back in a friendly manner, "You dug a hole for yourself and you just can't get out of this one. Just give in."

Sherlock sighed dramatically and pouted with chocolate cover lip protruding from his sullen expression, that comical look caused everyone to double over with hysterical fits of laughing.

* * *

As the silliness trickled out of the warm ambiance, the ladies set off to the sitting room for a pleasant discussion of motherhood, whilst the men were tasked with cleaning away the dinner and packing up the uneaten food. Molly throughly enjoyed being a part of the Holmes/Watson circle of friends and having another female ally made her extremely happy- especially since her newfound ally was with child.

The two settled side by side on the settee with cuppa in hand, "Mary, how's life treating you? You haven't been doing too much, have you?"

"Ha! Af it! John is so conscious of everything I do, and don't get me started on dear Mrs. Hudson. It took a lot of convincing for her to let me at least cook tonight's dinner. She really is a darling though, always making sure everything is running smoothly in this flat. I mean, just look at me! I'm not "that" big yet. I can still see my feet". Mary patted her unborn child gently and sighed contently with the way her life had played out so far. It was good. Very good. "I'm excited, John's so happy with everything right now, and we have good friends to share the joy with. Enough about me and the baby though, I want to know about the new things in your life."

Molly took a sip and began first with an interesting post mortem she had before launching into a spiel concerning (her) consulting detective's health and stranger than his typically odd behaviours.

* * *

All the while, leaving two men to clean is always a cause for some concern, considering one of the two despises cleaning with a passion. "I prefer the dust as company, at least I know when something has been misplaced. Such as if my annoying, pesky older brother comes to put his grubby hands on my things and bug the flat," he would claim that excuse as cause for refusing to clean.

However, tonight was a far cry from what might is expected from two men and a kitchen. John had carefully stored all the uneaten food in separate contained and cautiously placed them inside the refrigerator, weary of finding some questionable body part for experiment in Watson's (not Sherlock's lab experiments) refrigerator.

A sigh of relief escaped the doctor's breath, Sherlock's ears honed in on the sound and turned his body to face the direction it came from, forgetting his hands were dripping with soapy water,"Everything alright there John? I know Tetris isn't your strong suit, want help?"

"No, no Sherlock. Everything's great. I'm just thrilled not to find any of YOUR experiments in MY refrigerator. Besides, don't insult my Tetris skills! I'm rather good at making things fit in the dishwasher rack, and stacking odd shaped containers in tight spaces." He solidified the statement with closing the door firmly.

"Ha! Says the man who can't beat the third level on his phone after multiple attempts." Sherlock merely shrugged and continued washing the cutlery, pots, and assorted dishes before placing them in the empty dishwasher for a more through cleansing whilst John went to wipe the dining table with a wet rag.

Reaching out to dry his hands on the kitchen towel, Sherlock's foot skidded across the soapy puddle surrounding the sink completely taking him out. He fell like a log on the cold hard tile, making his head impacted the tile with a sickening crack coupled with a painful grunt.

Like a spark's flash, John was immediately by his friend's side making sure he wasn't hurt badly. "Sherlock, you ok? Just your head or anything else that hurts? The doctor's skilled hands palpated his skull for any distress, thankfully none was found. Only a slight headache, but nothing some ice wouldn't heal.

"I'm fine John. Honest," Sherlock protested but accepted John's hand guiding him to lean against the cabinet doors directly in front of the sink, "It's only a slight headache. I've had far worse before."

"You sure? That was a pretty hard hit to the tile, considering how high your head is of the ground."

"Fine." He replied tersely.

"Very well," John took a place next to his best friend and rested his head against the cabinet doors, "I'm going to ask you something and I really would like an honest, complete, and truthful answer. Okay Sherlock? Please?"

"Fine." He again replied tersely, but made no intention of moving so John took a moment to formulate his question carefully.

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for reading and commenting. Sorry this is kind of a clifhanger, the chapter was already getting quite long so this was the best place to cut and start a new chapter. This chapter title is a deviation from the previous chapters that included both, chocolate and stars **


	23. Some More Chocolate but No More Stars

**Chapter 23**

* * *

_"You sure? That was a pretty hard hit to the tile, considering how high your head is of the ground."_

_"Fine." He replied tersely._

_"Very well," John took a place next to his best friend and rested his head against the cabinet doors, "I'm going to ask you something and I really would like an honest, complete, and truthful answer. Okay Sherlock? Please?"_

_"Fine." He again replied tersely, but made no intention of moving so John took a moment to formulate his question carefully._

* * *

He cleared his throat and asked hesitantly, "Sherlock, now that this case is finished, can we discuss what happened at the man's place just as we arrived there?"

He nodded curtly and passionately dreaded the conversation, knowing full well how it would pan out.

"What do you want to discuss John?" He emphasised 'discuss' with such disdainful sarcasm in hopes of John terminating the conversation before it progressed any further.

"Sherlock, please. Don't do this. I want to help, that's why I'm asking. So I can figure out what will be best for the future times we're working together."

He rubbed his face and took another deep breath and spoke gently, "I would like to know what you were thinking when you ran away from us as soon as we arrived to the scene. Why did you run? Is everything all right Sherlock? Maybe I should have done something beforehand and I didn't think to? Should I have warned you, told you something? You have to tell me, I can't read minds, or deduce things like you can. You know that."

This time it was Sherlock who sighed, rubbed his face in agitation and looked at his friend with such pained eyes, "Not you John, never you, there was nothing you should have, could have, would have done, it wasn't your fault. Honestly, don't blame yourself for everything, it is a terrible habit of yours I hope you intend to break quickly. But, if you really must know John, no," his temper stared to rise did as his voice,"No! I am NOT fine! No! Everything is NOT all right! No, no, no John! You say you want to help me? You can't John. Just can't. What would YOU have thought as soon as you came to an unfamilar place. Hmmm!?"

He glared intensely at the floor and continued at the same volume, rather certain the entire block could hear him, but he didn't give one shred of care, "Don't you even dare pester me about what happened in the past. There's no benefit in wasting our breath 'discussing' that."

Rage, confusion, hurt, and self-worthlessness surged through his body like hot lava during a volcanic eruption, Sherlock had erupted.

His mouth spoke without first tasting the bitterness of his barded words, "Go away. I don't want you. You are of no concern to me now. Go!" He shoved his faithful confidante hard in the shoulder, but John did not budge,"but if you _really_ want to recall the past, recall this! **Recall these exact words: 'Care to explain that little business back there? What were you thinking? Why did you do that? Are you crazy? Did that little stunt in any way help us find answers? You can't do this to us Sherlock! At least have to courtesy to tell me if you're going to run off somewhere alone!' What do you have to say to THAT John!?"

He huffed angrily and folded his arm, slightly panting to steady his breathing from all the fire and smoke that left him. Judging by his friend's silence, he too remained silent. He crossed the point of no return, he knew it well. It was the emotion talking not him. He wasn't angry at John, he was just angry...but he took it out on his best friend. IT was unforgivable in his eyes, John would leave and that would be the end of it all. The one friend, best friend he truly had, just burned their relationship to shreds.

_This is WHY I don't bother to deal with sentimental emotions._

Oh if looks could destroy, the two men would have been sitting atop a mountain of rubble once called "our flat" if Sherlock had intensified his scowl in even the slightest of ways. Another wave of anger came washing over him, but it was anger directed at himself for behaving so indecently.

"But Sherlock I," John contradicted in a kind voice careful to hide the complete and frozen shock he felt from hearing his own words quoted with such precision and gusto as he had said them initially. Sure, Sherlock's every word hit to the core. Shattered, rattled, shook, broke, and ripped apart everything inside him, but he knew.

He knew. He understood.

He could read between the lines, hear roar of the unspoken words. Pain and Hurt trembled in the dark corner of Sherlock's fierce rage.

It was a double-edged sword twisting forcefully in the hearts of both men, each felt so much hurt with those words.

* * *

"Sherlock, I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry things are this way," he spoke softly still and placed his hand on Sherlock's shaking shoulder, "I am truly sorry for what I said, I didn't intend to hurt you in any way. Believe me. I was frightened and panicked when you left without uttering a single word of your whereabouts."

"Please Sherlock," John was close to pleading at this point, wanting to mend the wound as quick as possible, "I never intended anything like that to happen between us, I'm truly so very sorry. Sherlock, I wish I had the means to fix it or switch places with you. If it had to be amongst the two of us, I would have gladly taken it without second thought," mumbled under his breath, " Heaven knows he needs those keen eyes more than I ever do, if it should come to that."

A hand suddenly seized John's wrist and grasped it firmly, it startled him. "What is it Sherlock?"

He leant close to John's ear and threatened in his deep baritone rumble devoid of any trace of fury from earlier, "Don't you ever say that again John Hamish Watson. Ever. Never speak of wishing you could have the will and power to change places with me." When he sighed, his entire demeanour changed from menacing and towering, to feeble and cowering, "This is my condition and no, it's not fair to me at all, but that cannot be changed. I don't want you to feel obliged to do anything for my account. John, please don't leave..." His voice faltered in to a crack then broke into muffled sobs.

"Sherlock. I'm sorry to overwhelm you," he patted his friend's back gently, There, there. It's alright. I'm right here. Don't put up a fight to suppress everything. You do too much of that all the time, don't think I can't see past your ruse."

He felt Sherlock lean into his touch and drew up his knees to his trembling shoulders.

The sobs turned into a steady stream of tears.

John's figurative heart splintered into countless shards stabbing away relentlessly at his literal heart, never had he witnessed Sherlock cry, never to this extent. He gently pushed his best friend to lay in his lap, slowly massaging gentle circles at his supraspinatus fossa. He felt empathy and tried to sympathise with Sherlock's condition.

_I have see the fake tear glistening in your eyes when you felt they were advantageous to wheedling information out of witnesses and wasn't crying, those were merely tears produced on command. Merely a show, an act. Nothing more._

_No, this is much more, so much more than what had just taken place. Emotional distress unleashed at everything, but not directed toward anyone. You are hurt from those words I spoke, and I truly regret them ever leaving my mouth, let alone him to speak them. Yet, I know you cry because it's emotion pent up inside as he refuses to admit expressing them like others would. Sherlock, Sherlock... Just get it through that thick head of yours already. This isn't impacting you alone, why can't you let us in on everything. It really would be beneficial for us all. Please Sherlock, for me?"_

Slowly by slowly, Sherlock's steady stream of many tears turned into the little gasps for breath as he tried to control his crying. He wasn't aware of it, but he had latched on John's hand, latched on he had with quite the grip. Neither would claim their strong suit as displaying or returning affection; however, in instances as such instincts took over their thoughts. Sherlock instinctively held onto something that would bring him comfort: John. Said man in return had stayed by his side and provided him a shoulder to cry on.

A very intimate display, but it did prove one thing- Sherlock was human. He was not cold, heartless, and indifferent to anything aside from The Work.

^^The world saw a man without a heart. Merely just The Freak, The Psychopath, The Weirdo, The Machine...basically a man cold and distant from the world. This was a man who, in a manner of speaking, was a newer generation of Vulcans, an extraterrestrial species known for purging all emotional thought in oneself. Sherlock envied to be the tin man, the Vulcan, the android, anything that bared likeness of humans.

But how more wrong could anyone be? One only had to truly understand Sherlock to know he isn't as he appears.

* * *

At last Sherlock returned to a calmer state, so John took the opportunity to speak again.

"Sherlock, are you feeling better now?"

He only nodded.

"Good. Some water?"

Again he only nodded.

John momentarily left his side to fetch a drink and wipe up the spill that caused the catastrophe in the first place. With his best friend only gone for mere seconds, Sherlock felt the guilt bearing down on him harder and harder.

_Please John, don't leave me. I'm sorry._

As soon as John returned to his place, Sherlock embraced him. It was a very rare aspect for him to embrace others, most of the times others would have to initiate the act first. Needless to mention, John was slightly started at the sudden gesture of kindness, but nonetheless, took it graciously.

"Forgive me John. Please. Don't go. I don't want you to. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have behaved like that. It was wrong of me to." He sipped nervously waiting for the sort of response he would receive.

"Of course, I won't go. It's okay, I know Sherlock. I know," was all John said, but both men knew "I know" mean more than just knowing what happened.

It meant everything that happened would not be counted for anything against each other ever. "I know" equated to all the words possible for giving an eloquent apology, just summed up into two small words.

The two embraced once more to solidify their philia-affection for each other.

"Will you promise to let me help you Sherlock, with everything now? Don't hid anything from me, please." John pleaded.

"Very well, if you insist," Sherlock counted with caution, "However, I must point out things will not fare well for you all the time. You will become tired, frustrated, angry, and annoyed. I can guarantee it."

"I might at times act like that, but despite that I'm more than willing to help you any way I can. So, what I should I know for next time? We share these with Molly and Mary."

"It would be mutually beneficial for us if you could..." Sherlock took a breath and ticked off a list of detail that would help him in future cases and daily activities, then followed John to the sitting room to rejoin their ladies.

* * *

**A-N: ****This chapter has been modified, butchered, and sutured together so many times, in so many different ways I've lost count. I endeavour to have given justice for accurately portraying emotional distress of facing life-changing events (to which I researched on reputable medical sites), whilst still retaining the characteristics and behaviours of these complex, yet brilliantly crafted characters. If it's not to your liking, please write constructive criticism, guests are more than welcome to also. Thank you so much!**

**I would like to specifically point out that absolutely NO part of this chapter is to be taken in the wrong thinking. I did not write it as such. Philia-brotherly.**

**** John's words from Chapter 19 of this story.**

**^^ Excerpt and references from Chapter 3 "A Heart One Would Never Expect". I realise I do reference this short three-part a lot now, I hope you don't mind. :)**

**Yes, I like Star Trek. Enterprise to Voyager!**


	24. How Many Times Must I Say It?

**Chapter 24**

* * *

_It meant everything that happened would not be counted for anything against each other ever. "I know" equated to all the words possible for giving an eloquent apology, just summed up into two small words._

_"It would be mutually beneficial for us if you could..." Sherlock took a breath and ticked off a list of detail that would help him in future cases and daily activities, then followed John to the sitting room to rejoin their ladies._

* * *

Following Sherlock's heart wrenching expressions of utter despair and hatred toward everything changes to seeking solace and help from his friends, the evening was progressing fairly well. Together, the foursome set about making The List of all the way to be considerate and thoughful for Sherlock and his new way of handling experiments, cases, and daily activites.

It had started out with little things one would have thought about: keeping the flat neat and clutter free, putting things back to their proper place... and the list went on to how to handle crime scenes. The rough edges were smoothed out of John and Sherlock's method termed "You see, I deduce".

A nice list was drawn up without much fuss or arguing, that is, until John insisted experiments had to be strictly monitored and drew the line with using explosives- much to Sherlock's chargrin. He glowered at John and aimed a pillow at the poor friend's head.

"Abosolutely NOT Sherlock," John exclaimed for probably the fifth (or was it the seventh time) since the topic arose whilst evading the fluffy projectile,"Explosives are not for experiments, they are for using in their proper manner. They're not for you to fiddle around with in uncontrolled experiments."

"But Molly will be with me, it's perfectly under control. It's the experiment and we two will be in control. She provides the eyes and I provide the brain. There, problem solved," Sherlock reasoned with childish innocently. His comment earned him a smack on the shoulder from (his) Molly.

"I have a brain too, Sherlock. A good brain too. Thank you very much!"

"Sherlock, I'm not steping away from this. No is the answer, the only acceptable answer." Captain Watson ordered.

"Johnnn," the man-child whined in a high-pitched voice not caring his friend resorted to his mannerism from the days in the RAMC, "but if you don't let me then you won't be fair to Molly. She's a very reliable person. I would think you do not doubt her good judgment, as she is a reasonable doctor and scientist, right John?"

"Sherlock, just don't. You've gotten everything your way, I want just one thing my way and it is not even that outrageous of a request. No dangerous experiments. End of discussion. Good?"

"Fine, but you really should trust Molly more. She's quite skilled with handling mixing small amouts of chemicals, she doesn't spill unlike some GP I know." Sherlock jabbed again in hopes of ruffling John's feather's some more.

"Alright enough, Sherlock." Molly couldn't stand the two boys arguing aimlessly, let alone Sherlock acting like a fussy two-years old toddler. "John's right. While I am flattered by your compliment, I really don't think it is in the best interest of anyone for you to be experimenting with those dangerous compounds. Sure you're a graduate chemist, but you're experimenting to find new results, hence it's not always a preditable outcome, now is it? Hmmm?"

She had him.

He knew so humbly bowed his head toward her and accepted the ultimatum: No dangerous experiments of any kind.

"Good, now that is settled, anything else that need to be hashed over until everyone will happy?" Mary prompted since she was desiganted as the official note-keeper for The List.

None spoke up.

Sherlock suddenly stood up and shoved his hand under the seat cushion of the sofa that he was haphazardly lounging on. The three looked on with wonder as Sherlock fished around between the padding clearly looking for something, but what?

Sherlock pulled out a thick book on "The Futher Advancements of Theoretical Physics and its Properties" and carelessly tossed it over his shoulder. "Nope," popping the 'p' as he rummaged around some more even going as far as sticking his entire arm's length in between the frame and cushion.

_Well! There goes the rule about keeing the flat safe and clutter-free. It wasn't as if Sherlock would be the one keeping the flat organised...oh, no. that would be left the dear sweet "not your housekeeper" Mrs. Hudson. _

John picked up the book and thumbed through it, "So you don't know that the earth goes around the sun, BUT you actually understand all of these proposed complex theories about space and beyond? How is that Sherlock?"

The man merely shurgged, "The information is a lot more useful than knowing the earth goes around the sun, you would be surprised to know that very book is how I solved a case many years ago before we met. Quite interesing, I highly recomend reading it."

"I jught might accept your suggestion." Mary took the book and started perusing the preface.

Next Sherlock pulled out a well-used multi-subject spiral filled with scrawly handwritting on some unidentifable topic. John hazarded a guess and branded it as "240 tobacco ash types."

"243!" a voice countered with annoyace. "243!"

"Yes, yes my mistake Sherlock. Of course, how could I have forgotten. 243. Please accept my deepest apology for forgetting three ash types," John flailed his arms whilst giving The Look to Mary. The two ladies burst out laughing at John's dramatically overdone apology to which the angered one simply huffed and continued searching.

"What exactly are you looking for Sherlock dear?" Mary asked sweetly as crouched next to him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder not to startle him, it was one of those List Things he had requested about not knowing where people were in relation to him, "That sofa starting to look like Mary Poppin's carpet bag. How much stuff you do have crammed in there? It is even comfortable with all that piled underneath the cushion?"

"Mary!" he turned to face with a confused look, he took her hand in his, "You're in no condition to be in this position. Please get up. John! Your wife is here on the floor, as a doctor I'm sure you would find this most disagreeable given her present condition." He bellowed again for the father-to-be to do something, but the man merely laughed heartily.

Mary cupped Sherlock's face and kissed his cheek, much to Sherlock's dismay, "I'm perfectly fine. Here, feel," She placed his hand on her rotund stomach letting him take in the baby's subtle movements, "I'm not due yet. The baby will be just fine if I sit on the floor for just a moment. Don't worry. You worry far too much. There will be plenty to do once our child is born, no time for worrying at all." She planted another kiss on his cheek before he had the chance to take his hand off her stomach.

"Fine, but I do inist you go sit in a chair." Sherlock pointed his gaze at the open seat.

Molly ushered her friend to the seat and took Mary's place beside their friend. She stuck her hand in and pulled out a stack of slightly wrinkled cream-coloured serviettes.

"Sherlock, looking for these by any chance?" She placed them in his hand and watched his expression change into a nostalgic smile. Those were the exact serviettes Sherlock used for teaching himself how to fold Swan and Opera House. The crisp white folded clothes decorating the the reception table brought back pleasant memories...particularlly of him dancing with a certain pathologist.**

_"He gritted his teeth as he let himself be dragged on the dance floor. "I'm going to regret this," he mumbled._

_"No you won't, you'll thank me." Molly countered. He huffed an annoyed sigh and took his position...Spinning his pathologist round and round the floor made him dizzy, but he didn't care. A passion for dancing was a well-guarded secret of his. Dancing with Molly was fun, she was right- I will thank her for dragging me on the dance floor."_

He shook his head to file the memory away back into its proper folder withing the Mind Palace, them place the serviettes next to the tobacco ash spiral.

"Ah! Found it!" he withdrew his arm from the farthest end of the furniture and gripped the folded white sword loosely in his palm.

Speechless and puzzlement painted clear across the other three's faces.

_What were they suppose to make of it? Didn't Sherlock loathe Mycroft's "bugged" gift and only used it once? Should they congratulate him for bring it out? If they said something at all, would it be the wrong thing and drive Sherlock to hiding it away again?#_

They were at a loss for words.

Sensing a wave of uneasiness permeate through the room, Sherlock took his place on the sofa again. He resumed the previous position of being sprawled out on the sofa, but turned to recline on his right side. The long slender musician's fingers ran over the white carbon fibre, noting every turn and twist of it. Three folds to be precise, three folds of equal length. It was a magnificent piece of work. Even gilded in red at the tip.

"We've discussed everything but this, I know that took it out once, but...ermm...I think I should...ermm... do something..." he waved said tool in a circle as his voice trailed off. He too was now at a loss for words.

_^^What is there to say? Obviously I mean to use the device Mycroft so "graciously" forced on me, but I really do despise it so much. It's not as if I care what people think of me, I've never asked for their view on anything. Why bother with social appearances, they're trivial and petty...then again, I suppose I loathe this white cane because of what people's thinking of what it represents to them. It really isn't fair, is it? W__hen I am out in public with my cane, the cane does the labelling for me. When I get grimacing looks, I wish the cane could do some impaling for me, but I am advised that this could get me in some trouble...if only the cane was invisible to everyone but me, then no one would know the difference. If only it were possible._

"Yes of course," Mary found her ability to formulate words the fastest, "Is there something in particular you wanted me to make a note of?"

"No, nothing in particular, I don't believe so for now. I need to think first," Sherlock bounced it from one hand to the other trying to determine for himself what exactly he meant by showing it to his friends.

"Ok, just take your time dear. I'll put on some tea, it'll help you think." Mary gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then cocked her head to the kitchen and eyed her husband to follow suit.

* * *

**A-N: Thank you to new readers and regular readers, I appreciate your comments very much.**

****Chapter 4 "Estella, Sauvignon blanc, and Dancing" of this story.**

**# Answers to above questions are found below in the mentioned two stories, additionally, a reader asked if Molly and Sherlock will start a relationship together in this story. No, this is platonic Sherlock/Molly. Clean, fluffy, and slightly romantic Sherlock/Molly can be found in specific chapters of "You Have Always Counted" and in certain parts of "The Star are Shining Tonight".**

**^^Chapter 16 "Unexpected Package" of this story.**


	25. This List

**Chapter 25**

* * *

_Mary found her ability to formulate words the fastest, "Is there something in particular you wanted me to make a note of?"_

_"No, nothing in particular, I don't believe so for now. I need to think first." Sherlock bounced the device from one hand to the other trying to determine for himself what exactly he meant by showing it to his friends._

_"Ok, just take your time dear. I'll put on some tea, it'll help you think." Mary gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then cocked her head to the kitchen and eyed her husband to follow suit._

* * *

With the couple absent from the sitting room, Molly found herself alone with a troubled man deep at war in his mind.

"Sherlock," Molly murmured softly, "Sherlock please say something."

He did no such thing, instead his fist tightened over the carbon fibre so much his knuckles turned as white as the cane.

"Sherlock," her small and nibble fingers pried the cause for such pain out of his hand and set it aside before it splintered into shards and cut his palm, "You promised to talk to me, remember?" She leant closer and whispered once more, "Please?"

His clear cerulean orbs locked on instantly to her soft-brown ones. A face hardened with tumultuous emotions juxtaposed with one expressing so much empathy summarised the entire ambiance of the room.

"Molly, what am I to say?" Sherlock questioned gruffly, "l myself don't even know what to make of everything right now, so how am I suppose to express them to you?" A dejected sigh escaped his lips sent a sharp prick into Molly's tender heart.

"That's okay Sherlock," she patted his hand and didn't flinch when he grasped hers unexpectedly, "you'll find the right words to express what you think and feel. I'm here. We're all here to help you. Don't hide anything from us, it'll just make it difficult for you. Please don't."

* * *

The range steadily grew hotter and hotter heating up the water whilst John pattered around the tiny kitchen in search of tea making supplies, as his flatmate had the unfortunate habit of carelessly placing such crucial goods in to oddest places. It came to no surprise when John at last found the tea leaves bin stacked behind a rack of 10ml test tubes in the cupboard with crisps and biscuits. Thankfully, out of all of Sherlock's vices, his experimental equipment was always in tip-top condition when not being used for some scary concoction, The glass was sterelised thoroughly and wiped so no residue would create streaks, thus John didn't have to fear what foreign substance or pathogens would contaminate the precious tea. After all, without properly made tea, John wouldn't be able to function. Tea could be called the equivalent of well-brewed coffee for their neighbouring country across the pond, one who also have an intense affinity for hot drinks no matter the day or season.

"What do you suppose all that was, John?" Mary thought out loud waving with The List for emphasis.

"I don't know, I wish I did. But I haven't a clue. I don't think anyone does at this point, not even himself," John responded as he pulled his head out from under the sink cabinet cupping the sugar dish.

He strode over to his wife who was leaning against the range and studied the list intently, "Mary, I know you heard what went on in the kitchen as we were clearing away dinner." She nodded solemnly, she and her new found trusty ally had plenty to say about Sherlock's expressions before the men joined later.

"I think he is just completely disoriented and basically trying to find some sort of stability amidst this chaos. Like formulating this list and bringing out the white cane." He gave a mirthless laugh, " It was rather comical of him to pull it out of the sofa, but I wish he didn't hid it away. I haven't seen it in his hand since the night we went to the park.**"

"Exactly my point, we should do something about it. We have to, I don't think he will do it alone. Do you suppose he means to use it more frequently now?"

John shrugged helplessly, "I would like him to use it every single time he walks out the front door. I tried to encourage it as much as possible without crossing the line, but he doesn't listen to me most of the time."

"Yes, I think that is good. As his best friend, I take that is your right to say such things. By the way, Have you noticed Sherlock never calls it out directly. He never calls it a 'cane', though it is most commonly know as such. 'Stick' or 'Thing' is all he ever uses and it is said with such a repulsive tone, like it was acid burning his mouth."

The unmistakeable screeching of the kettle's boiling water cut of her husband's chance to reply. With a few fluid movements, Mary had four cups prepared to each person's way of taking tea placed on a tray, but made no movement to rejoin the other two just yet.

"No, I didn't. Now that I think about it, you're right. He did call it "mycroft's doing" once or twice, but never "cane". Perhaps he has a strong dislike toward the word given its negative connotation. I do recall very clearly he despised my legitimate use of the cane that one time an uncooperative patient lashed out me at the clinic."

John arranged the tray making room for the teapot and reflected on the experience a moment before continuing, "Walking with the cane certainly didn't help my self-esteem much, nobody wants to look like weakling. It was only a few days I used it, but I sensed an unfriendliness from everyone."

"However, with Sherlock it should be the complete opposite. The cane is not a weakness!" he exclaimed, "It gives him freedom to travel about without having to be led by the hand or shuffle his feet in fear of tripping over something. He must understand the good there is in using the cane. I've told him time and time again, I can't always be at his side."

Mary soothed her husband's animated display of expressions with a hug, "Not too loud dear. Still, you're absolutely right to make such a point. But how are we going to present the information to him? He didn't take kindly to the idea and might not still."

He hugged her back and cocked his head in thought, "Something will come up that will be good for us to tell him. We'll think of something..."

* * *

Back in the sitting room, Sherlock and Molly were having their own kind of heartfelt discussion mirroring the one Watson's had in the kitchen.

A few sniffles escaped the man's breath as the only evidence of his dried up tears. Molly knew he did not cry, but tonight was stressful and difficult so it was understandable.

"Thank you Molly." He leant forward to kiss her cheek, Molly returned the gesture with a warm hug.

"You're welcome. It's alright, quite alright. I'm glad we are understanding each other now better."

He smiled. It was a smile that travelled to his eyes, the kind of sincere smile that came from the heart, the kind of smile that healed the pricks in her heart from his mournful sighs.

"I am as well," he held out his hand for the device which no longer offended him, "You promised to help me? Will you?"

"Most certainly. Always."

Sherlock straightened the cane to its full length, then offered his arm as a gentleman would to his trusted friend.

"How about we try a few circles around this area, just to get the feel of it?" Molly offered and followed Sherlock's lead, but didn't talk. She tugged his jacket sleeve slightly whenever he might hit something the cane didn't alert him to.

"This is pointless! Why do I need this thing if you're next to me?" pounding the floor violently with the cane, "The table attacked my shin twice already and tripped over the rug," The cane he wielded lashed out in the direction he though the table was located.

Molly remained silent, she knew his questioned did not need to be answered. It was his sentimental wall breaking down and talking at the same time. She let him rant on he grew tired, then he held the cane in its proper position ready to try again.

"Molly," Sherlock's face had changed entirely when he looked in her direction. Now his eyes were not set hard against everything, rather they had become wide-eyed and determined. "I'm sorry. I know it's not pointless, but I do find it much more tolerable with you holding my arm. With the right companionship I find anything insufferable can be modified to a better state. I must admit though, from our trapesing taround the room has made me a bit dizzy, I am now unsure of where we are facing."

"You're facing us Sherlock," Mary answered as she walked to the threshold to the sitting room. She dipped her head slightly in awknowlegement of succeeding to her half of the plan- John had figured out how he wanted to broach the sensative subject of his best friend using it in public and on cases too. It was the plan Mary and Molly drafted when they overhead the men's discussion that took place on the kitchen floor. Molly returned the gesture and motioned to her success who was standing next to her- cane in hand.

"Well look at you Sherlock! Ready to take on the world with what's in your hand and with that bold expression you've got on. Just try not to destroy anything too badly," John joked as he placed the tea tray on the table, and secretly hoping the subtle message would build confidence in Sherlock's self-esteem.

Molly turned Sherlock in the direction of the sofa and released his arm, "You can do it Sherlock, just remember to scan wide#. The table is on your left and your chair is on the opposing side. Take your time. We're not going anywhere."

Sherlock gripped the cane snugly in his right hand and swung it left, it caught the edge of the rug.

_I hate the rug!_

He stepped onto the rug and swung right, this time it didn't hit anything so took another confident step. Again Sherlock repeated the process until he felt resistance at about one-third up from the tip.

_Ah, so I must be at the table now. Don't panic now. Just keep going._

Moving slightly back, Sherlock scanned again hoping to contact the table at a lower point, but it was the actually higher than before. His three friends watched intently not even daring to breathe for fear of something happening. Little did Sherlock know he was practically standing over the table, but no one said anything. Another wave of panic was close to crashing on the shores, he needed to reach the sofa before it came. Instead of stepping back, the man shuffled his feet sideways and drew the cane out from under table back into the sweeping motion. With each scan he made sure the left side contacted the table whilst the right remained free, he continued this process until the right side finally hit the sofa.

_At last! Now where is the armrest?!_

Bending over slowly with his free arm stretched out, the long bony fingers felt the soft well worn-out leather hide armrest and trailed up until they found the backing. Sherlock collapsed into the cushion with a sigh of relief.

"I knew you could do it, didn't even hit anything. I'm very proud Sherlock. There, who says you need me? You can do it just fine alone," Molly congratulated him with another hug as John and Mary voice their praise and happiness.

"Perhaps you're right, all of you. I can do it alone just fine if I'm in the flat. I'm sure I'll be so good that I don't even need this "thing", I bet I can waltz around the entire area with some more practise. Well, won't be needing this for now."

Sherlock was just about to shove it in the seat cushion again when John caught his wrist and took the article.

"Actually, it's best if you just leave it out, you know mate, saves you time from fishing it out of the sofa when you need to use it again around the flat and for cases too."

"No John. No." Sherlock's cheery persona disappeared in an instant, "We discussed this already. We go to cases together. Recall it's one of the things on The List. We have our modified solving cases method. You also banned me from running off without your knowledge so that means we'll be working together throughout the entire time we're away from the flat. I won't need it, I have you."

Before John could even react, Sherlock's mobile sounded with a text from Lestrade. The angry man didn't even bother activating the automated voice-over, merely chucked the device at his friend and curled up in a ball with his back toward everyone.

John opened the message and activated the voice-over that read out the DI's request for coming to the Yard tomorrow as new case "might be of some interest to you" and would discuss the details in person. Turns out John's wish was granted right then and there, all night he had wrestled with the idea of how to get Sherlock to take the cane out in public. With just Lestrade and himself in the office that early in the morning, Sherlock might be more willing to do so. One can always hope.

* * *

**A-N: There may be some delays in updates due to my courses resuming, but I will endeavour not let too much time pass between each one. Thank you to new ones reading, commenting, favourite/follow.**

****Chapter 18 "Some Chocolate and Stars Tonight"**

**# When walking with the cane, users are taught to 'scan' the area in a wide semi-circle sweeping motion or a "tap right then step right method" that start slightly left/right of the person's shoulder and ends slightly right/left of the person's other shoulder- this is to ensure the cane will cover a majority of the area the person may come in contact with. Though the cane works well in most cases, sometimes an object (chair, table...) will remain undetected because the cane might slide under the object instead of striking the contact point (leg of furniture) with the tip- so the seat/tabletop will contact the cane further up from the tip which lessens the distance between the person's foot and object. (Hence Sherlock walking into the table when practising.)**


	26. Only in the Flat, Never in Public

**Chapter 26**

* * *

_Before John could even react, Sherlock's mobile sounded with a text from Lestrade. The angry man didn't even bother activating the automated voice-over, merely chucked the device at his friend and curled up in a ball with his back toward everyone._

_He opened the message and activated the voice-over that read out the DI's request for coming to the Yard tomorrow as new case "might be of some interest to you" and would discuss the details in person. Turns out John's wish was granted right then and there, all night he had wrestled with the idea of how to get Sherlock to take the cane out in public. With just Lestrade and himself in the office that early in the morning, Sherlock might be more willing to do so._

_One can always hope._

* * *

It was quarter past seven when Sherlock finally came to. He had spent the rest of the night fuming over John's comment about taking the loathsome article out in public, but Molly's voice of confidence constantly interrupted his stream of anger. He wanted to be angry at John, but he couldn't. He could never be angry at his best friend for long. Battling with oneself was extremely taxing on the mind and somewhat on the body itself, so needless to say, his night did not go well.

Flinging his duvet carelessly off to the side, Sherlock sauntered sleepily to the bath for freshen up before heading to the Yard hoping something of interest would be waiting for him there, Lestrade hadn't provided anymore information so he must have deemed it moderately interesting since the DI cunningly baited the consulting detective to his office.

Dear Mrs. Hudson had his steaming morning tea already set out on the table in the sitting room, so he sank into his chair soaking in the warm delicious energy-giving liquid. As far as most were concerned, Mrs. Hudson in his eyes was merely the landlady and housekeeper, but to him she was much more. So much more. England would truly fall if she left Baker Street, it may have sounded like gentle sarcasm in John's ears on the night he met his future best friend, but it was the complete truth.

As he exited his flat fully dressed to brave the chilly morning winds, John came skipping down his flight of stairs just in time to meet Sherlock at the top of the 221B's flight of stairs. Together the two of them took the stairs carefully, paying heed not to miscount the steps down to the front door.

"Morning Sherlock! Weren't planning on leaving without me, now were you?" John commented teasingly and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

Sherlock smirked. _Don't be silly John, I would never do that. Ever. I mean it._

"Of course not, I was merely timing how long it would take you to come to the flat knowing you woke at the same time I did this morning. You're late by one minuet and twenty-three seconds. I've been counting. Tardiness it typically frowned up in society John, in case you weren't aware of such customs."

"Yea, yea...whatever. I'm glad to see you had a good morning, Mary isn't feeling too well and it was a rough start. From what Lestrade sent last night, the case seemed interesting. Did he text you more?" They followed each other out to the pavement, each turning up the collar of his own coat to break the sharp sting of the wind.

"No he didn't tell me anything new. I certainly hope the case is interesting, I detest this kind of chilly and bitting wind, walking around in it makes me miserable." He tightened the scarf and wrapped his signature coat tigher around his bony frame. John hailed the taxi and slid in after his friend taking care Sherlock didn't graze his precious brain on the roof of the car.

-000-

Sherlock strode into the Yard with John's trusted guiding hand keeping from walking into the furniture at eight o'clock on the dot. Lestrade met them at the hall leading to his depart of the building with three steaming cups on a tray.

Sherlock didn't bother with formalities so asked immediately as soon as John kicked Lestrade's office door shut with his heel, "So. What's this new case that you deem so interesting for my taste."

"Morning John, Sherlock. Seems like you two have had an interesting morning, yes?" Lestrade stalled as he pulled the folder out of the huge metal filing cabinet.

"Morning, thanks for the coffee," he sipped it cautiously, "I'd say it was usual, why do you ask?"

The man shrugged, "you two just look a little frazzled, but then again Sherlock does tend to look frazzled all the time." That comment made John smirk and Sherlock pout.

"Ah, here it is, have a look. Just came in last night," he opened the file and leafed through the case notes and pulled out a sealed bag of photographs spreading them out on the desk,"Thought this might be a good one, boys from forensics snapped a few photos and started preliminary paperwork. We don't have much to go on yet unfortunately. It was called in by a company, the big corporation with a lot of international and internal business dealing, they're quite successful from what I've gathered. The company reported a break in and stolen documents, very sensitive documents that contained information about their international partnerships. As to who stole it, they listed a number of competing business, but we've yet to contact them about the problem. Thought it best to get your eye on the matter and help us limit the list."

The consulting detective and doctor rounded the table to bracket themselves besides Lestrade, the three hunched over the information scattered around.

"This is interesting. There is not much information to asses the situation well, but quite a lot of activity judging by the amount of information the trained monkeys have compiled. Obviously, we need to visit the place." Sherlock straightened to full height and placed his hands behind his back rocking on his heels pensively. No one said anything for a while, each trying to piece the fragmented information into something coherent.

"Well, do you want this case solved or not? We don't have all day and my eyes are of no help in this stage of crime-solving procedure," he remarked full of impatience and not of hurtful sarcasm. Glancing at the photo he picked up, Sherlock studied it intently for a moment, then handed it over to John.

_My Brain. His Eyes. Working Together._

"What's going on here John?" Sherlock stepped in between Lestrade and his companion to hear their voices better as they fed him information.

Lestrade explained the details on the evening call reporting the misdeed and John supplemented the information with his observations on the scattered photographs, all the while Sherlock barely said anything except to clarify the description of photos. He was busy building up a set of possible scenarios to test.

"...just a standard open office complex, long rows of tables with computers and assorted filing cabinets then sectioned off for individual working areas with built in grey dividers. The dividers aren't the same material of the table, I don't know what that's called but it's got that fabric stuff covering it so the name plates can be pinned outside each cubicle."

"Go on, don't generalise John," he remarked waving his hands around for emphasis, "Details. Details. What is on the tables? Something was stolen, it has to be fairly noticeable since they know it was taken."

"Hmmm," John furrowed his brow as he tried to identify parts that might be of some importance to the case. "So far, nothing seems strange, lots of picture frames with families and pets, scattered paper- some graphs and some with words. It's not too clear here," gesturing to the corner of the frame before handing it over to Lestrade for him to examine.

"Ok, so not much use in that photo. There has to be a photograph of the compromised area, where's that one?" He felt the two men aside him shuffling around in search of requested article.

"Ah! Got it," John laid in front of the consulting detective and guided his hands to centre of the image, "It's taken from a visitor's viewpoint, so the chair is behind the desk." Sherlock placed his index finger on the disarrayed desk, and let John gently stretched his ring finger to hover over the corner of the desk with the scattered pens, papers and the poor ivy shattered in its pot.

"Hmmm. Clearly the intruder knew where the information was. The desk is in disarray, but you said the far left was in perfect order, even the water glass didn't topple. The rest of the mess is just a ruse to cover over the crime. I've gathered enough, the rest must be taken from the office room."

"Fair enough," Lestrade commented, slightly baffled at how Sherlock could deduce the intruder's plan with just a few descriptions and some photographs, "I'll get the team. Meet me at the car, will you?"

Sherlock nodded and hooked his left hand on the crook of John's elbow, to which the doctor stared at his friend intently trying to figure out if Sherlock would do as he hoped, that is to say if he didn't stuff the cane back under the sofa cushion again.

"Shall we?" Sherlock prompted, "I'd like to beat Lestrade the car, if it makes any difference to you. Back to what I told you this morning John. Tardiness isn't highly valued in societal norms."

He smirked smugly, so John jabbed his ribs a couple times, "All right you big silly oaf. Let's go."

As John directed them through the maze of desks and chairs, and down the many hall and finally to the garage, he notice a white and red object peeking out from under Sherlock's coat sleeve with only his hand wrapped around the tip to keep it from sliding out of the sleeve. His heart felt giddy.

_So he didn't hide it and actually brought it! Well isn't that brilliant news! He'll use it eventually, I know that now since he's comfortable enough to hide it on himself._

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for reading. Thank you to everyone's constructive comments, you've given me quite a lot to think about for bettering the story. **


	27. My Brain, His Eyes: We Work Together

**Chapter 26**

* * *

_Before John could even react, Sherlock's mobile sounded with a text from Lestrade. The angry man didn't even bother activating the automated voice-over, merely chucked the device at his friend and curled up in a ball with his back toward everyone._

_He opened the message and activated the voice-over that read out the DI's request for coming to the Yard tomorrow as new case "might be of some interest to you" and would discuss the details in person. Turns out John's wish was granted right then and there, all night he had wrestled with the idea of how to get Sherlock to take the cane out in public. With just Lestrade and himself in the office that early in the morning, Sherlock might be more willing to do so._

_One can always hope._

* * *

It was quarter past seven when Sherlock finally came to. He had spent the rest of the night fuming over John's comment about taking the loathsome article out in public, but Molly's voice of confidence constantly interrupted his stream of anger. He wanted to be angry at John, but he couldn't. He could never be angry at his best friend for long. Battling with oneself was extremely taxing on the mind and somewhat on the body itself, so needless to say, his night did not go well.

Flinging his duvet carelessly off to the side, Sherlock sauntered sleepily to the bath for freshen up before heading to the Yard hoping something of interest would be waiting for him there, Lestrade hadn't provided anymore information so he must have deemed it moderately interesting since the DI cunningly baited the consulting detective to his office.

Dear Mrs. Hudson had his steaming morning tea already set out on the table in the sitting room, so he sank into his chair soaking in the warm delicious energy-giving liquid. As far as most were concerned, Mrs. Hudson in his eyes was merely the landlady and housekeeper, but to him she was much more. So much more. England would truly fall if she left Baker Street, it may have sounded like gentle sarcasm in John's ears on the night he met his future best friend, but it was the complete truth.

As he exited his flat fully dressed to brave the chilly morning winds, John came skipping down his flight of stairs just in time to meet Sherlock at the top of the 221B's flight of stairs. Together the two of them took the stairs carefully, paying heed not to miscount the steps down to the front door.

"Morning Sherlock! Weren't planning on leaving without me, now were you?" John commented teasingly and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

Sherlock smirked. _Don't be silly John, I would never do that. Ever. I mean it._

"Of course not, I was merely timing how long it would take you to come to the flat knowing you woke at the same time I did this morning. You're late by one minuet and twenty-three seconds. I've been counting. Tardiness it typically frowned up in society John, in case you weren't aware of such customs."

"Yea, yea...whatever. I'm glad to see you had a good morning, Mary isn't feeling too well and it was a rough start. From what Lestrade sent last night, the case seemed interesting. Did he text you more?" They followed each other out to the pavement, each turning up the collar of his own coat to break the sharp sting of the wind.

"No he didn't tell me anything new. I certainly hope the case is interesting, I detest this kind of chilly and bitting wind, walking around in it makes me miserable." He tightened the scarf and wrapped his signature coat tigher around his bony frame. John hailed the taxi and slid in after his friend taking care Sherlock didn't graze his precious brain on the roof of the car.

-000-

Sherlock strode into the Yard with John's trusted guiding hand keeping from walking into the furniture at eight o'clock on the dot. Lestrade met them at the hall leading to his depart of the building with three steaming cups on a tray.

Sherlock didn't bother with formalities so asked immediately as soon as John kicked Lestrade's office door shut with his heel, "So. What's this new case that you deem so interesting for my taste."

"Morning John, Sherlock. Seems like you two have had an interesting morning, yes?" Lestrade stalled as he pulled the folder out of the huge metal filing cabinet.

"Morning, thanks for the coffee," he sipped it cautiously, "I'd say it was usual, why do you ask?"

The man shrugged, "you two just look a little frazzled, but then again Sherlock does tend to look frazzled all the time." That comment made John smirk and Sherlock pout.

"Ah, here it is, have a look. Just came in last night," he opened the file and leafed through the case notes and pulled out a sealed bag of photographs spreading them out on the desk,"Thought this might be a good one, boys from forensics snapped a few photos and started preliminary paperwork. We don't have much to go on yet unfortunately. It was called in by a company, the big corporation with a lot of international and internal business dealing, they're quite successful from what I've gathered. The company reported a break in and stolen documents, very sensitive documents that contained information about their international partnerships. As to who stole it, they listed a number of competing business, but we've yet to contact them about the problem. Thought it best to get your eye on the matter and help us limit the list."

The consulting detective and doctor rounded the table to bracket themselves besides Lestrade, the three hunched over the information scattered around.

"This is interesting. There is not much information to asses the situation well, but quite a lot of activity judging by the amount of information the trained monkeys have compiled. Obviously, we need to visit the place." Sherlock straightened to full height and placed his hands behind his back rocking on his heels pensively. No one said anything for a while, each trying to piece the fragmented information into something coherent.

"Well, do you want this case solved or not? We don't have all day and my eyes are of no help in this stage of crime-solving procedure," he remarked full of impatience and not of hurtful sarcasm. Glancing at the photo he picked up, Sherlock studied it intently for a moment, then handed it over to John.

_My Brain. His Eyes. Working Together._

"What's going on here John?" Sherlock stepped in between Lestrade and his companion to hear their voices better as they fed him information.

Lestrade explained the details on the evening call reporting the misdeed and John supplemented the information with his observations on the scattered photographs, all the while Sherlock barely said anything except to clarify the description of photos. He was busy building up a set of possible scenarios to test.

"...just a standard open office complex, long rows of tables with computers and assorted filing cabinets then sectioned off for individual working areas with built in grey dividers. The dividers aren't the same material of the table, I don't know what that's called but it's got that fabric stuff covering it so the name plates can be pinned outside each cubicle."

"Go on, don't generalise John," he remarked waving his hands around for emphasis, "Details. Details. What is on the tables? Something was stolen, it has to be fairly noticeable since they know it was taken."

"Hmmm," John furrowed his brow as he tried to identify parts that might be of some importance to the case. "So far, nothing seems strange, lots of picture frames with families and pets, scattered paper- some graphs and some with words. It's not too clear here," gesturing to the corner of the frame before handing it over to Lestrade for him to examine.

"Ok, so not much use in that photo. There has to be a photograph of the compromised area, where's that one?" He felt the two men aside him shuffling around in search of requested article.

"Ah! Got it," John laid in front of the consulting detective and guided his hands to centre of the image, "It's taken from a visitor's viewpoint, so the chair is behind the desk." Sherlock placed his index finger on the disarrayed desk, and let John gently stretched his ring finger to hover over the corner of the desk with the scattered pens, papers and the poor ivy shattered in its pot.

"Hmmm. Clearly the intruder knew where the information was. The desk is in disarray, but you said the far left was in perfect order, even the water glass didn't topple. The rest of the mess is just a ruse to cover over the crime. I've gathered enough, the rest must be taken from the office room."

"Fair enough," Lestrade commented, slightly baffled at how Sherlock could deduce the intruder's plan with just a few descriptions and some photographs, "I'll get the team. Meet me at the car, will you?"

Sherlock nodded and hooked his left hand on the crook of John's elbow, to which the doctor stared at his friend intently trying to figure out if Sherlock would do as he hoped, that is to say if he didn't stuff the cane back under the sofa cushion again.

"Shall we?" Sherlock prompted, "I'd like to beat Lestrade the car, if it makes any difference to you. Back to what I told you this morning John. Tardiness isn't highly valued in societal norms."

He smirked smugly, so John jabbed his ribs a couple times, "All right you big silly oaf. Let's go."

As John directed them through the maze of desks and chairs, and down the many hall and finally to the garage, he notice a white and red object peeking out from under Sherlock's coat sleeve with only his hand wrapped around the tip to keep it from sliding out of the sleeve. His heart felt giddy.

_So he didn't hide it and actually brought it! Well isn't that brilliant news! He'll use it eventually, I know that now since he's comfortable enough to hide it on himself._

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for reading. Thank you to everyone's constructive comments, you've given me quite a lot to think about for bettering the story. **


	28. Finding Freedom Finally

**Chapter 27**

* * *

As John directed them through the maze of desks and chairs, and down the many hall and finally to the garage, he notice a white and red object peeking out from under Sherlock's coat sleeve with only his hand wrapped around the tip to keep it from sliding out of the sleeve. His heart felt giddy.

S_o he didn't hide it and actually brought it! Well isn't that brilliant news! He'll use it eventually, I know that now since he's comfortable enough to hide it on himself._

* * *

_S_herlock and John reached the garage well before Lestrade could even begin assembling his team. Walking up and down the rows of cars, John tried to find Lestrade's sliver car, but all in area were silver and of the same model. It was trying finding a needle in a haystack, a near futile attempt.

"John," Sherlock's soft voice bounce off the solid cement pillars, "We're alone in here. Right?"

Glancing around quickly John affirmed his friends question, "Why do ask Sherlock? Are you insinuating that I got us, or will get us lost in here?"

"No, not at all," he chid in good humour, "I don't doubt your abilities. You've never given me a reason to ever. I have found your sense of direction quite useful in certain instances for cases; however, it would be to your extreme benefit if you would commit the layout of the city and Tube system to memory. Would save you considerable time from wandering around looking for the proper stops."

John stopped short and gawked at his friend in disbelief, leave it to ONLY Sherlock who would drown a nice compliment with a down pour of well-meaning advise.

"No, Sherlock. I am not you. You can remember all that stuff. I need my brain space for things that are useful," he placed his hand over Sherlock's wrist to cut him off from complaining about "useful and not useful subject. "Remembering every street, ally, road, and intersection is not my cup of tea. No thank you! As for the Tube System, do I really need to explain that again? We've had that discussion already, this being the third one, if you're counting."

"Very well," Sherlock shrugged and withdrew the cane from his sleeve. "No one is here." It was a reaffirmation to himself as opposed to making a comment in fear of anyone who might chance upon a reason to scorn at him.

He let the cane fall to its complete length and rested the black handle the crook of his elbow. From tip to handle, it stood to Sherlock's sternum. "What's here John? Where am I?" he gestured with a flailing wrist, but didn't release contact from the arm guiding him. " I'm sorry I was angry at you last night. You are right. I want to do this now. I have to sooner or later, probably sooner though judging by my decreased percentage of light perception."

"Left and right of us are two lines of carbon-copy panda cars in their allocated parking spaces. We're standing in the aisle, and where we came from is now to the left of your side." John shifted so he stood face to face, and kicking the tip lightly so Sherlock could judge the distance. "I'm going to walk back now, alright?" He nodded curtly. "Speaking on the same lines, when we get back to the flat, I want to examine your eyes again, I haven't done so since the time you traced a purple Africa.#"

Sherlock nodded again then grounded his energy in focusing to completing this daunting task.

John saw panic jump across Sherlock's face when his long bony fingers felt John's arm slowly slide out of his reach. Before he could even take another step back, Sherlock's strained voice called for his confidante wanting to know where he had gone.

"Hey, I'm here. You'll be just fine. Haven't even move yet, just dropped my arm." Giving his friend one last comforting pat on the shoulder, John walked ten paces away, then called for Sherlock to come.

"John? I don't like this! Come back! I've changed my mind, I don't want to do it. Where are you? I'm not moving. John?" In his haste to reach out, the cane clattered to the ground with a thunderous clamour, or at least that was how Sherlock perceived the sound.

Like a deer's eyes caught in the car's headlights at night described exactly his petrified look. Wide-eyed, completely terrified, and frozen in his stance with any trace of his typical stoic persona wiped away, Sherlock called out weakly, "John? Please? Are you still here? Help me, please?"

As much as it pained John to watch the whole ordeal, he knew it was crucial for Sherlock learning how to be independent. This wouldn't be the first nor last time the cane may fall from his grasp.

John spoke slowly, "Sherlock, I haven't moved. Still ten paces away. Bend down and grab your cane, it's right in front of your feet. There's nothing close by, you won't hit anything. Promise. Come to me. I am right here."

Sherlock tentatively lowered himself to the ground and pattered around until his fingers hit the cane, never had he clung to it like his life depended on it.

_Never have I liked the device so much! I regret this decision. I shouldn't have even brought it out the flat. I'm clearly not ready. Obviously._

He found Freedom, caught it tight in his palms, and would never letting it go.

*Grasping the cane in its proper position with his left, Sherlock thrust it in front of his right foot and shuffled his left foot forward.

"That's it Sherlock," John encouraged, "Listen to me, I'll keep talking. Take your time. That's good, make sure to let the tip cross past your shoulder."

Sweeping cane wider as John reminded him, Sherlock walked slow deliberate steps toward his confidante's soothing and reassuring voice. "Yes, that's right. Listen. I'm here. Right here. Don't wander off too far," John cautioned when Sherlock would start to veer too far off to the side. "Good. You're close now, can you tell?"

"Yes, where are you?" Sherlock stretched his hand out groping for contact, but was in fact still too far away for just a mere arm's distance.

"Not quite there, you're close," John assured Sherlock when his hand did not feel anything, "How does my voice sound to you now?"

"I know you're close to me, your voice is clearer and louder here," he looked slightly right,"but it didn't sound like you were shouting when you first walked back." he stretched his hand out again, "Am I closer now?"

John snapped his heel which echoed off the concrete pillars alerting Sherlock to better judge the space between them. "Just about, little more. I'm in front of you. Don't go off to the left. Yes, keep walking on straight now. Good. Remember wide gestures, take it from shoulder to shoulder Sherlock."

Finally the cane hit John's shoe with a soft thud. Reaching out tentatively, Sherlock waited for John to take his arm.

_At last! I have my anchor._

"Told you so! You most certainly can do it," John congratulated with a solid pat on the back,"Wasn't as bad as you thought it was, right?"

He shrugged off the comment and returned the aid to the inner breast coat pocket, but his face said more than what words could ever write justice to. John saw him smile to himself, a genuine smile that reached his whole face, and even though blind, his eyes still were just as expressive if he had sight. It was a rare occasion for the man to display such an amount of true, raw and completely honest sentiment. No words were needed to describe the amount of self-confidence, and success Sherlock found in himself once he overcame his initial fear.

"Guess Lestrade needs a lecture about tardiness too, so you're not alone in that aspect John," he quipped, "What is it with people these days that do not understand how punctuality is a valued aspect. Shall we go search for them now? I think they are the ones who are lost."

Arm in arm the two set off to find their ride to the crime scene.

* * *

**A-N: Thanks to everyone who wrote such lovely suggestions for character appearances and potential plotlines.**

**Les Trois Mousqetaires (Sherlock, John, Lestrade) will now be a regular part of "You Have Always Counted", as requested by a dear commenter and friend who wanted a story without Molly or Mary. It's posted now. "tres mosqueteros y sin el hombre y su mujer".**

**# Purple Africa is referenced in Chapter 9 "Discussing Monet and Africa" of this story when Sherlock finally allowed John to examine him.**

***A revision to what I explained in the previous chapter's endnotes. I discovered a source that explained more clearly how to use the cane properly, he said the tip will always be in opposite side of the foot stepping. So, the cane is constantly in a diagonal position of the feet. Based on general preference, many tend to hold the cane in their non-dominate hand, thus leaving their dominant hand free.**


	29. DARE TO FIND ME

**Chapter 28**

* * *

"Told you so! You most certainly can do it," John congratulated with a solid pat on the back,"Wasn't as bad as you though it was, right?"

He shrugged offthe comment and returned the walking aid to the inner breast coat pocket, but his face said more than what words could ever write justice to.

John saw him smile to himself, a genuine smile that reached his whole face, and even though blind, his eyes still were just as expressive if he had sight. It was a rare occasion for the man to display such an amount of true, raw and completely honest sentiment.

No words were needed to describe the amount of self-confidence, and success Sherlock found in himself once he overcame his intial fear. It wasn't smooth sailing just yet, but they rode over the rough patch and made it to where they proverbially stood now.

Linked arm in arm the two set off to find their ride to the crime scene.

* * *

"So this is the main lobby and just left is the lift," Lestrade swept his hand across pointing out the building's ground floor layout as he led everyone to take the lift to the tenth floor.

"John, tell me more." Sherlock whispered into his friend's ear as they were squeezed into the very back of the lift which was packed tight with other Yard member. Even though the crime was commited on the tenth floor, deducing the scene started the moment the two set foot through the double door main entrance.

John nodded and rattled off in a volume only Sherlock could hear about every single detail he could remember from start to finish of the entire lobby area.

"Good eye John," Sherlock commended as they exited last from the lift, You're getting better with each time. You choose the words much more carefully now, and are more accurate in your measurements of distance and depth. I know exactly what the lobby looks like now. Now for the fun part, the crime scene." He had a wild grin and rubbed his hands together a bit too gleefully.

-0-

"So, this is the desk where the intruder stole the documents. It's remained the same from the photo we have on record," John walked around the furniture and audibly noted the content of papers strewn all over the place, commented on the scribbles of reminders decorating the large full size desk calendar and personal pocket book agenda opened to the week the crime was committed. Like Sherlock had pointed out earlier back at the Yard, the criminal knew where the information was and all of this mess was the "window dressing", nothing on the two planners contained information of any value to the men.

By the time John and Sherlock finished examining the desk area and letting forensics snap a few more photographs, they shrunk off into a corner discussing the possible ideas for what the next step would be to take.

Closing the last drawer on the file cabinet, Lestrade accidentally pushed it a little too forcefully shut. It was old and required an extra shove for the rolling mechanisms to work., tat caused an avalanche of more printed pages from onto of the cabinet to litter the office floor. Landing on the very top pile was a handwritten note. It contained a bright yellow half print/half cursive large script on a black sheet of fine quality printer paper with four simple words, "DARE TO FIND ME."

With that bit of new information, it changed the entire persepective on the case. No longer where they merely trying to restore stolen articles, they now were dealing with a person or persons who wanted to play. One who were taunting the police, detectives, and the corporation to go after them.

"How interesting, this brings up the rating to a seven at least," Sherlock remarked happily, "If anything else shows up it may rank as my most intersting non-death related case to date. I'll have to examine it at the Lab." He pocketed the paper carefully in an evidence bag and then the two men followed everyone back to the car park.

No one spoke the entire ride back, save for the one time the automated voice over on Sherlock's stated the current time. Each man was in his own mind contemplating the note's meaning.

-0-

"Molly" Sherlock bellowed as he swung the lab room's double door entrance wide with both hands open causing the huge slabs of bullet-proof, shatter proof, sturdy material swing violently on its hinges behind John's heels.

Requested person didn't even bother rising from her comfy office chair of which she currently occupied with her feet propped up on the desk, whilst enjoying a well-deserved break munching on some digestives. She was just relaxing in her office for a moment to mentally collect herself before going home when she heard the man's footfalls come from all the down the far end of the hospital corridor.

Perhaps that wasn't entirely true, but whoELSE would cause such a racket in the hallway leading to the morgue? There was one and only one man who possessed enough dramatic flair to announce his presence in a bold manner.

_I really don't want to be at the lab any longer. Well! There goes my chance to go home, now he's here he will want to do something. Argh! I'm terribly exhausted from taking this double shift and working on so many post-mortems today. If he want some body parts for experimenting then he'll have to pry me out of my chair- have fun trying that...I am not moving._

"Molly," Sherlock belted out again, "Where are you? Are you here? You should be here. I know you're here, you always have work on this day of the week. I require your assistance. It's for a case. It's important. Molly!"

"Sherlock, mate! Really! " John chastised strongly placing a hand on his shoulder to stop the man from screaming himself hoarse, "that's no way to talk to a lady, especially Molly. Bless her for putting up with you and your eccentric less-than-polite ways. Now. Try again in a nicer, calmer, and gentler voice then maybe she'll come out of hiding."

Taking his friend to the centre of the lab room and let him lean against one of the work tables lining the large room.

Sherlock cleared his throat, cocked his head to the side then amended his poorly ways, "Molly, would you be a dear and come out of hiding from your office? I can hear you in there scuffling around. Please stop munching on those digestives, they're really not too healthy for you, don't eat so many at once. I require your assistance on analysing this piece of evidence. Will you come?"

"Eh. Nice try Sherlock, could skip out on the part with her eating. Just stick with a nice pleasant sounding request, not a deduction," John commented as Molly emerged from her office still holding onto the box of digestives. She glared at the smug man and bit back a few unladylike words.

_How dare he be right! Argh! I will eat as many as I wish to._

"What do you want Sherlock, it's only a little bit into the afternoon," Molly drawled out between bites of the digestive, "I know you have my schedule memorised even betters I do myself. So, I know you know that I just finished a double shift, and currently in the process of heading home right this instant. Make your request quick, and maybe, just maybe I'll help you with the case."

Sherlock's smug smile was replaced instantly with a look of pitiful pleading. "But I need you,"he pleaded with large doe-like expressive eyes, "you HAVE to help me. It's for an important case. I have a note that needs to be analysed, it could be the key to everything I could know about the criminal and the intent. You can't go home now Molly, this is too important to miss."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, the exhausted pathologist exhaled sharply several times. Speaking through a clench jaw, she consented begrudingly, "Fine, but be quick about it. I really want to go home and sleep."

"Certainly," he whipped out the note from his coat, passed it to her, and caught her wrist before she could draw back, " Thank you Molly, I mean it. I need analysis on the entie content. Ink composition analysis. Paper analysis and I will work on the penmenship," turning to John he added, "You do know there is a direct correlation between a person's behaviour and his wirting style, right?"

"Sure Sherlock, everyone knows that. Well, now I do. So what are you saying? Because I'm a doctor, I have poor handwriting and thus a bad person?" he quipped and poked Sherlock in the shoulder jokingly.

"Course not John, you're not a bad person at all. Don't be so ordinary and boring. Besides, everyone knows only I can read and understand your handwriting." Sherlock flashed a goofy smile to his best friend, "No, it's actully an analysis of how the person writes every letter. It depends on whether the person is male or female, left -handed or right-handed, whether the person prefers script versus print, and all sorts of other little details to note. **Shall we begin?"

Together the three set off to perform the necessary experiments for understanding everything the note contained. Dear sweet Molly started analysing the compositions straight away whilst John worked with Sherlock on deciphering the handwriting.

"So, right here the "D" is in a half script-half print form leaning slightly to the right. Looks a bit like mine, maybe he's left handed too. Give me your hand, I'll show you." John positioned Sherlock's fingers stragetically over his left-hand so he could tell how each letter was written.

"The straight stroke starts here with a lot of weight, since the ink bled through the backside, but lightened up as he finished it. For the curved part, the pen started like this," he moved Sherlock's fingers around slightly he could judge the weight pressed into the paper against the angle at which John wrote.

"How interesting, for one thing is certain. This is a man's handwriting," Sherlock inferred as he mimicked the script of the D on a fresh piece of paper without John's guidance, "A woman with this kind of criminal nature, and possibly working in an multi-storey large scale office complex corporation would have excellent penmanship. What about the next letter?"

The two methodically worked their way through each letter noting every curve, dot, and weight finishing off the letters. Sherlock practised the left handed, and well educated man's handwriting repeatedly, thus committing it to his immediate memory.

* * *

**A-N: Apologies for being away so long. My muse kept wandering off to write other short stories in "You Have Always Counted", but I've now planned in advance for this story, so I hope the updating times will not be as far spread out. Thank you for your patience, comments, favourite, follows. **

****Couldn't resist a little Kahn in here. Star Trek for the win! All of the original series and new ones. (/\\_/\\)**


	30. A Small Respite

**Chapter 29**

* * *

_The two methodically worked their way through each letter noting every curve, dot, and weight finishing off the letters. Sherlock practised the left handed, and well educated man's handwriting repeatedly, thus committing it to his immediate memory._

* * *

With Molly's analysis of both paper and ink coupled with the men's efforts on the handwriting, the case was stating to make headway. A more detailed investigation was still to come before anything definite could be determined.

"Looks good Sherlock," Molly complimented examining his strokes closely, "It's hard to tell now the original from your writing. So, does understanding his handwriting give us any inkling on who we're dealing with?

"No, not quite. It's a terrible practise to make assumptions before gathering enough data or else the entire result will be skewed. Have you more results from the work earlier?" Sherlock questioned but didn't break his focus on the work.

"I will in about," glancing at her watch," in a few hours. Hungry?"

"No. Let's eat. My flat. John, you coming?" He helped straightened up the work area, then left the morgue with his two favourite people linked on each side of his arms.

As celebration for their hard efforts and Molly willingness to forgo a much needed pleasant sleep. Everyone turned toward Baker Street to recollect themselves mentally and physically with some authentic Chinese food in take-away bins and moon cakes. After all, Lunar New Year was this past Wednesday, so the ships were bustling with fine dishes and sweet.

Searching for answers was far from a walk in the park. As soon as the three made it to the sitting room after filling their bellies to the maximum, each flopped down on their respective pieces of furniture and fell soundly asleep for some hours.

* * *

Mary found her husband and friends still lounging in that exact manner when she returned from work at the clinic.

"Afternoon sleeping beauty," she kissed his cheek, "slept well?"

"Mmmm. Afternoon. Yes, I needed that nap. Running around London really is rather exhausting. How are we feeling today?" He patted her growing abdomen softly.

"We are feeling just wonderful," Sherlock answered for John,"Right Molly?," also answering for her too, "Yes of course you must be. You've just woken from a nap and are well nourished."

"Sherlock, are you ok? You seem a bit off. Something bothering you? You're usually not this chipper, " Mary question whilst analysing his every part, that consulting detective wasn't the only fizzy drink on the shelf, others could deduce just as well as he could if try chose to do so.

"Perfectly well, whatever gave you reason to doubt my health Mary? Rather, it is your health I am more concerned with given your present condition," he motioned toward the unborn child, "Might I point out that you have yet to answer John's question."

"I would have IF someone didn't insist on answering every question whether it was intended for him or not. I am, as you would say, 'perfectly well'," she shot back without missing the beat to which he resigned to curling up in a ball and sulking.

Ignoring the grown baby's childish behaviour, she further pointed out, "Molly dear, you've been very quiet through all this. Why don't you come to our flat and rest up some more that way Sherlock isn't in your hair constantly."

"No. No," she laughed, "Thanks for the offer, but I'm not sleepy anymore. You would think that after working so much that I would sleep hours and hours. But not at all, just a little bit of time for shut-eye does wonders. Did you have plans for later this evening you need help with?"

Mary nodded, but her smile told a different story. Something about the way her eyes twinkled gave away her plan to Molly, but that was fine, both enjoyed each other's company immensely regardless of the task needing to be taken care of. Most likely it would include tonight's dinner arrangements and going to the market for such goods.

They were and will always be "the fearless duo", or so they called themselves, because of their close association with the wild antics of the two hooligans.

"Shall let the men fend for themselves whilst we go have a grand time?" Mary didn't wait for her friend to answer before dragging her out to the pavement.

"This grand time wouldn't happen to include shopping for the little one, would it Mary?"

"Of course it is! Admit it," she poked Molly's rib and led her to the shops, "You like it too! Let's go!"

* * *

**A-N: I think something has happened to the formatting on this site, I cannot use the "copy paste" feature for adding new chapter entries in Doc Manager. Additionally it took me several tries over a few hours for the site to accept my new entry in the "Doc Manager" section, thus the delay in updating the story. The following chapter is a continuation of this one, but it was too long to write in one long submission. The following one will be posted ASAP**

**Thank you for being patient!**


	31. Everything into Nothing

**Chapter 30**

* * *

With the two best friends sitting in companionable silence each sipping on their third cuppa, John at last broke the trance-like feeling with a single request in the tenderest tone he could speak with.

"May I?"

"Yes, but first bring me Estella. I need her."

Placing the beautifully carved Stradivarius violin in Sherlock's deft hands, he scurried up to his flat for the med bag and retuned almost as soon as he left.

"All right Sherlock," the doctor sat on the short table facing him, "It'll be just like last time, nothing new. Sherlock? Are you ok? Sherlock?"

The man made no movement as to indicate he heard John calling, merely griped the neck of Estella tighter. His beloved violin was his security blanket, in a manner of speaking. When any trying or difficult situation would come up, she was first thing in his talented fingers.

-0-

_I know it is inevitable, it's coming faster and faster. What I have left is next to useless, or it will be called that very soon. I hate to think about it, makes me despise everything and depressed. Yet, I promised my friends I would change my ways. I promised them I would no longer hide away in my room, or be angry for this terrible hand dealt to me. I said I would work hard and not sulk. I have done well. I have don just that! Truly have! I can read ^Grade 2 Braille to some extent and currently working on knowing how it write it. Granted, there are times when I'd want to bury myself away and wallow in self-pity- but that is sentimental. I don't do that at all! I am above my emotions...or so I claim to be. At least I try to be, emotions are sometimes too much for me to bear with in a sane manner._

_John knows there's noting he can physically do to slow the progression, but he asked to examine me despite that. I wish he wouldn't do that to himself. I know why he want to, he shouldn't thought. I know it hurts him, but it hurts me too when I know he suffers uneccessarily for my sake._

_Yes, he's a doctor and he has that engrained feeling to help others, BUT THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING he can do about it._

_Although in his defense, I can understand his want to make me his personal patient and keep strict monitoring over me. Whenever he looks into my eyes, I can sense a vibe of sadness mixed with guilt, and sometimes happiness. I know he looks straight into my eyes though I can't actually see him do it, but sensing that someone is staring at you happens to everyone. I wish he could just see past it, for his sake more so than mine. I don't mean it in the sense of others should pretend I an not blind, rather just for this condition to not affect him as so._

_I believe that when he asks examines my eyes, it is a constant reminder of my condition to himself. It is incurable, irreversible, untreatable aggressive progressive bilateral vision loss. A reminder of that makes his feel helpless and powerless. He shouldn't be burden with such an unfair, unnecessary, irrelevant guilty feeling for my sake._

_Of course I detest becoming blind with every fibre of my being, but there is nothing to be done so I simply accept that and wait for oncoming Day of Doom. I never said I waited with a calm pleasant demeanour._

_Far from it be that at all!_

_When I am in the privacy of my bedroom during the wee hours when others might be sound asleep, my mind races like a horse running for it's wining lap- pushing itself to the maximum with every bit of energy in its reserve. I hold onto what I have left. Round and round my world spirals into a dark void of nothing._

_It is a black hole where "everything into nothing" happens. Time, space, energy, and most importantly light do not exist. That is me._

_I am a dying star soon to be a black hole. There is no way out and its pull of gravity on itself is unbeatable. Most certainly this dastardly feeling pierces me deep, but it wouldn't hurt nearly as much if my friends felt they are connected to it in some way._

_Despite a calm front of cheerful fake smiles and nonchalant attitude, I can only act like that for so long. I am no actor. I am a consulting detective, at least that is what I hope to still be. I know I have John as my eyes, he is invaluable to me in so many levels, acting as my eyes is only one of his wonderful traits._

-0-

"John, this is the last time I will let you do this. After today, no more."

"If you say so, I'll respect that," he agreed solemnly with some reluctance.

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for reading!**

**^^grade 2 Braille is also known as Contracted Braille. It is nearly the equivalent of texting in shorthand. (Eg) tonight = 2nite.**


	32. I Don't Know!

**Chapter 31**

* * *

According to the examination and discussion from just a moment ago, John now understood just how clearly Sherlock was able to distinguish certain things, such as faces or objects if they're close enough to him. His pupillary light reflex still remained function for a certain degree and because of it, well-lit areas were easiest for Sherlock to identify things.

It was the little things that made John happy.

_My experience with patients and blindness is very limited. Most of my patient that become blind are due to trauma of the war either by injury or severe infectious agents that were left untreated for too long. With genetics, there really isn't a fighting chance of something good happening, unlike the other causes. Most unfortunate and most unfair for everyone's part. Poor chap._

_In such instances, those patients became **totally blind. I don't believe that will happen to Sherlock, genetically caused blindness doesn't frequently result in total blindness unless there is another negative influence on the vision. I sincerely hope nothing else will come in, it just might send him over the edge._

_On his stressfully bad, miserable, "sulk-around-the-flat-no-cases" type days, I think his toes are dangling over the brim of a disaster, and the slightest annoyance would tip him. He's too proud to admit he actually has feelings and acts upon them, It's a downfall for him, those emotions._

_Sherlock hardly ever displays what he thinks, but I know he fakes a good front for the sake of everyone on his bad days. Especially for Molly. I know he has very terrible days too, but I am rarely a part of it- he makes sure I'm away when he is extremely sad. It's depressing that he pushes me away when all I want is for him to accept my help, or any help for that matter. The help offered comes with the utmost kindness and best intentions. He refuses them. Pride before a fall... Perhaps he now understands the importance of talking and recognising help is beneficial._

_I'm pleased with him telling me about his blindness, coming from a doctor's point of view it is a good analysis of the overall patient health. Most who are blind have their remaining sight of some extent and it doesn't advance worse, he seemed very happy when I mention it, but I'm sure he already knew that too. However, reading print wasn't possible anymore because the centre of his vision field is unclear now**. That was a very sad part in my examination._

_Sherlock had put up a convincing front when the topic of reading ability came up, merely brushing it off nonchalantly with saying, "I don't care. I can read Braille and most things come on eReaders, or are online, and I've got you to read to me. It doesn't matter if I can't actually see the printed letters," His indifferent shrug only made John's claim more true- it hurts him like crazy but won't show that to anyone. It was a noble try in honesty to hide behind the guise of indifference, but John knew full well that was not how he felt- if anything but that._

_When he told me he couldn't read, a flicker of depression slipped out from that fake cheerful smile. I can only wonder if he told me the whole truth when I asked him questions about his eyesight._

_He hardly talks about the blindness, this is the first time in a while that he's allowed me to be so direct about it. Perhaps it will always be a tender topic for him, but over time I hope he will not feel as uncomfortable as he is now discussing it. It is understandable that he wants to keep the chat to a minimum, I would want the same too. It would be tiring having to say something over and over again._

_When I had the cane, I appreciated people that didn't bat an eye at it, merely carried on with whatever they were saying to me. I can surmise that is why he feels so strongly about the white cane and being seen with it publicly._

_My intentions are admirable, if I may say so myself, I only want to help him out in the best way possible even if it means I have to honour his request. So be it if this is to be my last examination._

* * *

Snapping the med bag closed, John patted Sherlock's shoulder then left to put the bag away giving his best friend a moment to himself.

"Are you all right Sherlock?" John retuned to his place sitting on the short table.

"I'm not sure." Sherlock rarely lacked confidence in any matter, for him to admit "not sure" spoke volumes of emotions.

"It's okay to be 'not sure'. You don't have to know everything all the time. What do you need from me, Sherlock?"

"Help. I told you everything you wanted to hear during the examination. What am I suppose to do now?" Once again John heard the very words he thought Sherlock would never whisper. Help. If his best friend admitted to being uncertain and asking for assistance then he was in a very bad way off.

"Of course Sherlock, I will. What do you need from me?"

"You," he grab John's forearm and held on firmly,"You know everything far better than I know it myself concerning the medical side of this. I don't know what to do now, even though I know what to expect," he clenched the arm even tighter as his lack of confidence rose.

"I mean, I've read and done everything I could have," he scoffed with much mockery and disdain, "that is, when I could actually read. I read research articles in books, medical journals, even those ridiculous 'living with blindness' guides^. Those have proven to be poorly beneficial and did not prepare me for these new circumstances."

"Sherlock, I know I asked you this already, but I want to hear your answer again. It's important. Have you really accepted the fact that you are now legally blind? I don't mean by a dictionary definition or false pretence, but actually letting the feeling sink in?"

Taken aback but the sudden change of direction in the conversation, Sherlock was caught off guard. He paused to ponder the question again some more wondering why John would ask him something that the doctor already knew the answer to.

Previously, the unsettled man answered the loaded question with an arsenal of rehearsed, typical, non-informative responses memorised from varying sources that did little to drive the nail in. Now he was at a loss for words.

Sherlock had two skills, and unfortunately they were direct contrasts. Sometimes the man would beat around the bush and other times he would plough straight on through without a thought to being tactful.

Now he was at a loss for words.

"Why do you ask me again, John?" He questioned softly whilst fingering some notes on his violin trying to stall the inevitable.

"Your truthful answer is important. What you told me earlier are things I've heard my patients say many times over," uncrossing his arms and legs, John sat squarely and leant closer to hear better," Those word are taken straight from the very reading material you found 'not beneficial,' yet you quote them spot on. Talk to me please, I'm asking you to."

Sherlock resigned and sank deeper into the seat back cushion," Very well, if you insist. I don't know what to do because I really don't know what to do at all. Those medical journals and self help articles have prepared me for expecting everything, but now that it is actually happening, I don't know what to do. I won't admit it again, this will be the only time you will hear me say it. I am frightened. Yes, frightened as in properly scared, confused, terrified, lost, uncertain. Whatever adjective you chose to describe it, will describe my thought exactly right now. I guess I...I..."

His hushed voice trailed off to a muffled sigh as he looked into the distance trying to find the corect words to tell his best friend how he truly felt. Perhaps accepting help wasn't a bad idea afterall, he didn't have to be so self-sufficient. He had wonderful friends wanting to help him.

"Take your time Sherlock, I'll put the kettle on and you can tell me."

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for all the lovely comments, you patience, and interest in this story still!**

****Legal Blindness and Total Blindness are two different medical terms to categorise the lack of sufficient sight. The latter refers to be completely devoid of all light, as if one closed his/her eyes. It is not equivalent to be "seeing black". Total Blindness only affects a very small percentage of those with vision impairments, most are able to distinguish shapes and shadows.**

****Legal Blindness refers to vision with 20:200 range- so a person has to be at least 20 feet away from something that a person with normal (20/20) vision can see from 200 feet away. This is the equivalent to not being able to see the big "E" on Snellen eye chart with corrective aide.**

****In macular degeneration, vision is lost from the inner parts to the outer. The person may have some peripheral vision left, but it is not very clear; central vision is most of the time completely blurred.**

**^Those very article are very beneficial since majority of such are written by the medical/rehabilitation field and/or ones who are blind. I find my information from those sources and others.**


	33. Yes, I know I am Blind Duh

**Chapter 32**

* * *

_"Sherlock, I know I asked you this already, but I want to hear your answer again. It's important. Have you really accepted the fact that you are now legally blind? I don't mean by a dictionary definition or false pretence, but actually letting the feeling sink in?"_

* * *

Sherlock's hushed voice "ehmm" and "uhh" trailed off to a muffled sigh as he looked into the distance trying to find the corect words to tell his best friend how he truly felt. In turth, he surpressed the very thought of blindness, despite its presence affecting him every time he opned his eyes. Perhaps accepting help wasn't a bad idea afterall, perhaps he didn't have to be so self-sufficient.

"Take your time Sherlock, I'll put the kettle on and you can tell me." John knew tea was the key to making Sherlock reveal his inner thoughts.

After some time of silently pondering the dept of the situation with the help of a half-empty pot of tea, John handed Sherlock's phone to its rightful owner then spoke softly.

"The dictionary gives six definitions for the word 'Help'. Will you read them out to me, Sherlock?"

The depressed man pressed on the automated voice-over of his phone and listened to all six definitions in her monotonous drone. "What is your point, John?" He fired back emphasising the 'P' a bit too harshly. "Sorry," he hastily amended.

Tapping the screen again, John made the voice-over only read the first three defenitions. The phone read, "Help: to do something that makes it easier for someone to do a job, to deal with a problem, etc. : To aid or assist someone in a particular manner. : To change for the better."

"This is my point. Of the various definitions on Help, these three fit our need. Nowhere in the definition does Help make reference to something that is looked down on, does it? No. It says, 'to change for the better and make easier', don't you want that?"

Sherlock nodded slowly and took a sip buying him time to formulate a response, "I do, but it's hardly that easy to do. I don't put much hope in things getting better. Change means working hard, I have worked hard and things haven't gotten better. I'm not a crazy madman John, despite you thinking that, I know when there is a limit to things. There comes to a point when enough is enough. That's now."

Even though Sherlock's flawed reasoning had a few good points, John did not put the matter aside. He pressed on for more information. There was no way the dear doctor would allow his best friend to write himself off so quickly. It simply wasn't going to happen.

"Yes. I have no doubt that you can be strange and crazy at times, but you know full well 'that' kind of crazy is not the same one we're talking about right now. Regardless, you want something good to happen, I'm more than willing to help you. I'm actually begging for you to help yourself so I can help you also. You just have to want it also, to make your daily living easier for everyone- most importantly is to make it easier for you."

He stared at the mug, unable to find the courage and face Sherlock. Fingering the rim absentmindedly, he reveal , "I don't know if you can see it or not Sherlock, but whenever things don't go well or you're upset over something because you're current state, the whole ambience of this room or any place changes into a stiff and scared feeling that just doesn't leave no matter what. Molly and Mary are constantly set on edge because they're, quite frankly, terrified of what you might do that could possibly harm yourself. Be kind to them."

As for me," he fought hard to keep his voice firm and unchanged, "I don't like it one bit, that's why I'm so insistent on things changing. Will you? Please Sherlock, for yourself, for me, and for everyone."

Sherlock made no comment, there wasn't anything he could say to refute his best friend's sound reasoning. The only thing he could do was to amend his flawed mind and behaviour so his friends would be happy because he would genuinely happy.

"It was a good plan, win-win situation for everyone, if only it were that simple," Sherlock mused deeply, unaware that he hadn't replied to John's plea.

His best friend had a way with words that could draw the very core out of any person whether they wanted it or not. Perhaps that was why he was such a favoured doctor amongst many was due to the psychological spin on helping his patients heal more that just physical wounds. The right word at the right time said with the right emphasis made all the difference to the recipients of Dr. Watson's companionate care.

This was a delicate matter and must be handled very gently. With Sherlock's avoidance of answering the question John knew his best friend was still sorting out his feelings on the matter. He was no doctor of psychology, but the mind is the only part of the body that is unexplainable though countless ones have tried- but all in vain.

* * *

"Have you truly accepted the fact you are blind Sherlock?" John repeated gently for the third time since the topic was broached, feeling he would get a response from the previous comments he made.

After waiting patiently and quietly for twenty more minutes whilst observing the subtle changes of the man's stoic expression. John scrutinised over every flickers of epiphany mixed with depression, anger, and finally 'getting it'. Those expressions said more than all the words Sherlock could say.

"Yes. Yes I have. I understand now," he exhaled slowly and cleared his throat, "I must change. Starting with this." The new and happier man pulled out his red tipped white came from the Belstaff coat pocket which was strewn over the back of the sofa next to the chairs. "This cane. You keep pestering me to use it. I suppose I should, shouldn't I?" He chuckled in good humour.

"Yes Sherlock. You should," he unfolded it and handed it back, "It's your key to freedom, not me or anyone else's arm you hold on to. Take it with you everywhere and use it." Sherlock nodded solemnly.

"Why did you want to hide it?" He asked in between sips of tea.

"I thought that if I didn't have it or use it then I really didn't need it. I thought I could do things differently because I secretly hoped I could see more than I could, though it was just a comforting lie to myself and it really wasn't all that comfortable."

"Yes, I understand that feeling quite well. Any other reasons of why you didn't want to use it?" John ventured tentatively knowing there was always more than what meets the eye with Sherlock.

The man, who finally accepted himself as blind, felt uneasy sensing that John had picked up on what he didn't say, his fist clamped down on the white cane even tighter. The white on his knuckles nearly matched the White of the cane.

"There is one other reason, but...looking back I realise it was a foolish reason. It was... I... I didn't want others to know I can't see. I didn't want their pestering questions, disgusting pitying looks and remarks, murmurs behind my back, or whatever else people would do when they see the white cane. I know it seems vain to say, but I actuallly do care about what people say about me."

"No. I understand. But, you do have a big ego though, remember that!"

Sherlock laughed.

"But it's different for this case. Never mind what people think. You told me once people do little else but talk. Let them talk, what does it matter on what they will say or do?"

"Like I said, it was a foolish thought I was entertaining. Anyway, I've made my mind up to do things differently now," he folded up the cane, but didn't hide it in the coat pocket like before.

"Here's as good as any time to start fresh. Lestrade just texted telling us to come by the Yard," John took Sherlock's and made the phone read out the message. "Ready?"

"Yes." He said confidently. "Thank you John. You know... that...ehm...setting me straight.

"My pleasure, here. You're going to need this," he handed the no longer shunned white cane over to his best friend, "and this- because it's a bit chilly outside."

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for reading. Please accept my sincerest apologies for being absent from this story for so long. Many things have happened school-wise and now finally I will be taking course examinations next week. **


	34. Keep Working, You'll Find Me Soon Enough

**Chapter 33**

* * *

_[Flashback to Chapter 29 "Dare to Find Me"]_

_"So, this is the desk where the intruder stole the documents. It's remained the same from the photo we have on record," John walked around the furniture and audibly noted the content of papers strewn all over the place, commented on the scribbles of reminders decorating the large full size desk calendar and personal pocket book agenda opened to the week the crime was committed. Like Sherlock had pointed out earlier back at the Yard, the criminal knew where the information was and all of this mess was the "window dressing", nothing on the two planners contained information of any value to the men._

_By the time John and Sherlock finished examining the desk area and letting forensics snap a few more photographs, they shrunk off into a corner discussing the possible ideas for what the next step would be to take._

_Closing the last drawer on the file cabinet, Lestrade accidentally pushed it a little too forcefully shut. It was old and required an extra shove for the rolling mechanisms to work., tat caused an avalanche of more printed pages from onto of the cabinet to litter the office floor. Landing on the very top pile was a handwritten note. It contained a bright yellow half print/half cursive large script on a black sheet of fine quality printer paper with four simple words, "DARE TO FIND ME."_

_-0-_

_"My pleasure, truly. I'm glad you've turned over a new leaf Sherlock. It's going to be great for all of us-especially you. Here. You're going to need this," John pulled the no longer shunned white cane out from the coat pocket and handed it to his best friend, "and this- because it's a bit chilly outside." [From chapter 32]_

* * *

The two men sauntered through the familiar doors of glass and steel with Sherlock brandishing the white cane confidently and proudly in front of his every step. John was on his left walking in even strides, critically scrutinising every officer, intern, cleaning service worker, visitor who dared to make even the slightest of unwanted facial expression at them.

Of course Sherlock couldn't tell what was going on, but that didn't mean he couldn't sense the stiff ambience of the whole floor in their trek to the lifts. The short walk from the front door to the lifts was no more that a couple minuets at best, but in those brief moments the air grew still. It was as if someone had place a hot towel over the air vent on the ceiling. The room was stuffy, warm, and dreadfully uncomfortable to stand in without having a fresh air source. This feeling was the very reason Sherlock so adamantly refused to use the white cane or even reference an inkling to his blindness.

_"Yes. I now understand what John meant before about Molly and Mary feeling uncomfortable with me and my less that courteous behaviour," Sherlock pondered-recalling the conversation earlier from prior to leaving the flat._

The people they walked past weren't trying to be rude or purposely unkind, they were simply taken off guard with the duo's new and altered appearance. They didn't mean to stare so intently, but it was something intriguing to them- so they stared. Some with amazement. Some with curiosity, and some with confusion.

Once inside the safety of the lift, both heaved a sigh of relief. Each one's sigh was of different reasons: one was relief for braving through the trek of eyeballs, and one was of gratitude from onlookers' silence. The men concluded what had taken place only moments ago was very good. Very promising start though slightly uncomfortable to endure.

"I'd say that went well, what say you to that?" John questioned as he summoned the lift to the upper stories.

"I agree. It was good," he shrugged indifferently, "but it did feel a bit awkward with everyone staring. I could feel their eyes track every tap of the cane and our feet. It was so loud, each tap felt like a gong rining with full strength."

* * *

"Ah. That'll go away with time. Don't let it eat at you. Come. Let's go show Lestrade your brand new and stylish look," John offered his elbow to his best friend, then skilfully guided the way down the rows of cubicles and chairs before reaching Lestrade's private office at the back.

Without looking up from reading the file, Lestrade held out a piece of paper with some writing- handwriting to be specific. "This was called in about an hour ago. Two patrols investigated a loud noise disturbance in one of the buildings not far from the first one and found this. We can go look at the place, but it's practically to same as the first one we saw. Building was deserted by the time patrols scanned the floors, this paper was taped hastily on a wall. The tape is still crinkled from its initial taping and it was actually taped upside down and a bit sideways. What do you two make of it?"

Sherlock grunted softly signifying he heard Lestade but made no effort to answer the question. Instead, he looked toward John for a moment, and said person accepted the paper focused his attention on it. He briefly scanned it before describing it aloud.

"Well, looks about the same as the one we have concerning handwriting style. Message is a bit different. Here," he directly Sherlock to a chair, "Sit and I'll show you."

Not until Sherlock's cane struck the desk leg did Lestrade look up from the file, he eyed John asking silently if he could speak. John nodded slightly and smiled.

"Looking good Sherlock, how do you like it?" gesturing to the new addition, then clearing files away to straighten up his desk's dishevelled appearance, "You know that could come in handy for something, I don't know... apprehending criminals or some things." He waved his hand dismissively at such a silly thought and chuckled, Sherlock laughed too. "So, down to business. What do you two want to do with this?"

"Send off the paper to Molly for analysis like last time but first," Sherlock trailed off slightly, learn back in the seat and loosely crossed his arms, so John took that as cue to start verbalising what he noticed on the handwriting.

"This paper writes in all lower-case red ball point pen: _'Keep working, you'll find me soon enough'_. The handwriting looks the same as the first one, same pressure points applied to the start of the word and the sharp curls on the end. I would guess he was in a hurry since the paper is torn off hastily and the words are trailing down in a backwards C-shape."

He flipped the paper over and quickly scanned the coffee stained printed text. "Oh! Look here. This is new," Sherlock sat straight eager to know the unexpected, he heard John smiling through his voice, "Sherlock, this was written on the back of an invitation. Bit hard to read because of the coffee stains, but the date and place are clear. Must be some formal event since the typeset is in an elaborate cursive jet black script. Doesn't say what the event is or who is hosting it, probably was on the part that got torn off."

Sherlock leant forward and propped his elbows on the edge of the desk cupping his chin in the palms, "Then it seems, we must go look at the place. Let me have the paper," he took it and let his nimble fingers and keen nose analyse what John lacked to mention.

The coffee drinker, perhaps a foreigner, had an expensive taste. It was a special blend and brew. The stain wasn't a ring so it much have tipped over or placed on the desk too violently and the hot liquid splashed out., It indicated the coffee was in a ceramic mug rather than a plastic take-away cup. The person must have been an important figure in the building or company to receive such an elaborate invitation printed on wedding invitation quality paper. It was stiff, smelled of expensive men's cologne, and the text was slightly raised in a wax-like format.

"Yes we must go. There are details I need. This person is clearly taunting us or the persons who the first note was intended for. They're baiting us with these cryptic notes and messy crime scenes." Sherlock let his cane fall to full length and stood carefully in order not to hit the desk or chair.

-0-

"Great! I'll call up a small team that'll follow behind us," Lestrade led the way out the office and down toward the level where his patrol car was kept. John walked half a step in front of his best friend, so every time the cane pointed left, it would hit the heel of the shoe giving him a sense of bearing. It was an unspoken act of comfort and independence for doctor did not offer his arm when the two followed after Lestrade, he merely gave commentary of direction. A quick word of, "Left now just past the windows. Chairs on right, or something to that extent" is all John gave.

This process went on until the threesome arrive to the underground car park in which John then snagged Sherlock's right elbow and directed him in the sea of Yard's array of vehicles. He knew the echo of cane taps in a concrete enclosure might disorient the sound.

"Here Sherlock, top of the car," he guided the free hand to know the height of the car so the chance of hitting one's head when crawling in would be avoided.

"Thanks, now let's go!" He clapped his hands in glee, "This case is just went up a level, I'd say an 8 at least."

* * *

**A-N: Many thanks for reading and leaving such nice comments and ideas. Thank you for being patient between updates! :D**

**So... I recently discovered this series called "Marvel's Daredevil". I find it interesting to follow the crime solving adventures of a blind vigilante/lawyer and his best friend- who's also a fresh out of school lawyer. The two are hilarious**.


	35. What is Two Dimension?

**Chapter 34**

* * *

_John walked half a step in front of his best friend, so everytime the cane pointed left, it would hit the heel of the shoe giving Sherlock a sense of bearing. It was an unspoken act of comfort and independence for taller man as they followed Lestrade down to the Yard's car park..._

_"Here Sherlock, top of the car,"John guided his free hand to know the height of the car so the possibility of him hitting his head when crawling in would be avoided._

* * *

When the three men and Lestrade's team arrived on the scene and immediately John launched into a steady stream of vivid descriptions of every single inch of the building into Sherlock's ear. Lestrade hung to the back of the walk, silently observing the working of his favourite duo. Like lock and key, John and Sherlock knew each other so well they were able know each other's line of thought before it was spoken.

Perhaps it was because of Sherlock's blindness and his teachings to John allowed the doctor's keen eyes to take in every single detail in the large office area.

When all was said and done, even Lestrade could close his eyes and form a precise image of the area in his mind. It was something he couldn't quite explain, yet somehow in one way or another it was the specific words John used to paint out the room for his blind friend made it seem three-dimensional.

**_ After all, three-dimension is the only form the blind understand. What is two dimension? How can something not have depth? What does "flat" mean?_ **

-0-

It wasn't merely a chair and desk in an office the three were standing in. It was so much more!

It was more than "just" a chair.

It was a dark brown leather business spinning chair with six little black wheels that could hardly turn anymore due to the natural wear and tear. The hard leather of the seat back was worn out from much use, the armrests were cracked with lack of proper maintenance, and the stuffing was all but flattened out from the weight of a 1.7m well-built man's weight bearing down on it for countless hours when he slaved away working from sunrise to sunrise.

No.

It wasn't "just" a chair.

It was a chair with a story, one that helped refine the case into something that allowed them to trail the culprits.

-0-

"So. What do you make of the place, Sherlock? Got any theories for this case and what this latest handwritten note means?" Lestrade questioned the consulting detective as they finished examining the large area littered with numerous office supplies and used furniture all in a state of great disarray

"Yes. One theory to be exact. The paper which you found the note has one missing half," he accepted the torn paper from John and pieces the half they found whilst investigating the office room, "Look. Read it again. It clearly is an invitation for this person to attend the important event."

"Ok," the older man drawled out whilst trying to connect the dots in his mind, "Yes, it would make sense now to have his target be invited to the masquerade. After all, the point of such is to hide your face. Makes it the prime way to commit a crime, but why him? Any connections between this anonymous person's notes and his target?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, scrunched his brow, and spoke rapidly as the idea from in his mind, "That is uncertain for now, but I'm certain something will come up shortly. Have your men run a comprehensive search on this company's activities and note anything suspicious, also cross reference it with the company's business dealings the first note was found in."

He pounded the grey dull, coffe stained, frayed rug softy with the end of the cane. His voice slowed down to a soft whisper- almost as if he was mumbling to himself, not speaking to a person, "My prediction is there will be some illegal activity that they don't want brought to light and this suspect plans to bring them to downfall with a big show at the masqurade. Clearly this must be the reason, or why go through all the effort to stage these diversions and plant a note? The target must know something about the two dealings that the suspect doesn't want shared."

"Sounds logical Sherlock," John added in, "So you think this target know illegal activity about the companies or someone that is helping them out in an 'under the table' manner?" Sherlock merely shrugged and mummered something hastily and unintelligable, his mind was too far gone in creating more scenarios than paying attention to John's words.

"Well, it seems like we'll have to attend this Masqurade to solve the case and catch the ones causing all the trouble," Lestrade joked clapping his hands together lightly, "never thought I'd pull that out of the closet again after my big day as over. Those things are typically a one-time deal, good thing mine is still in decent condition and I haven't packed in too many sweets over the years. Better not have sold yours off John! You'll be needing it in a couple of weeks."

John tried in vain not to laugh, but failed. "I don't know mate...with all those cuppas and office snack you may have to take it for alterations...you know..." Lestrade glared at him with a smile. "Yea, I've still got my tuxedo. Mary would kill me if I sold it away. Guess it's a good thing I listened to her," he tapped on Sherlock's forearm, "Sherlock, you still have your tails from my wedding?

Sherlock, being Sherlock, didn't hear the question- nor did he hear it the second time. However, by the third time John's voice registered in his spinning mind.

"No. I don't have it. I only hired it out for the occasion. We must attend that masquerade so it is imperative we find the link between the two companies. Don't bother about me, I can just steal one of Mycroft's. He won't notice anyway if I take one since his face is probably buried in mounds of tea and sweets," he started for the main door, "Shall we? Molly can analyse this piece of the note at the lab, and your men can run the computer work."

The conversation dwindled down to silly jibes about formal dinners and the amount of work it would take to wear a proper dinner jacket as everyone trickled out of the building and headed for their respective places. There may have been a large number of sarcastic comments about Mycroft and his ever-constant affinity for his posh three piece daily attire said by the one and only.

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for reading and commenting. A happy welcome and thank you to new readers, followers, and favourites. Please enjoy.**

****Thoughts taken from one who was born blind. Many people ask him what being blind is like, so he in turn asked what daily life is like for sighted. He finds the concept of something drawn on paper as foreign.**

**Thank you to Guest comment~Daredevil is rather good.**

**Apologies for the delay in updating the story.**


	36. I Need Results, You Need a Gown

**Chapter 35**

* * *

"_No. I don't have it, John. I only hired it out for the occasion. We must attend that masquerade, so it is imperative we find the link between the two companies."_

_He waved his hand dismissively,"Don't bother about me, I can just steal one of Mycroft's custom tailored three piece formal dinner wear and have it altered to fit me properly. He won't notice anyway if I take one since his face is always buried in mounds of tea and sweets," he started for the main door with the two others by his side, "Shall we? Molly can analyse this piece of the note at the lab, and your Yard men can run the computer work."_

* * *

Nothing interesting happened in the ride back to Bart's, that is if one didn't count Lestrade and John belting out their favourite songs on the radio every time the deejay played something they know, which was practically every song.

Sherlock, to the surprise of his friends, actually hummed along and sang a few songs- but without the same vigour as the two goons in the front seats.

After receiving a few strange looks from passerby who questioned what on earth could be happening inside the car that made three grown men bound up and down in their seats with goofy smiles and a loud ruckus that shook the entire car.

As they rounded the corner to St. Bart's car park, the three children morphed into serious and well behaved gentleman who were in the right mind to turn the music down to a respectable level.

"Alright boys, here you are. Let me know of any finding, I'll have my mobile on," Lestrade said as the two others fiddled with the safety belt claps trying to free themselves.

"Certainly. Same goes for you. Remember: Any and all possible connections make sure you record them." Sherlock retuned and accepted John's offer to crawl out of the back seat.

"Understood. See you in a bit. Still have to see about that tux. Don't forget yours!" The detective inspector's voice echoed as he turned the car around back out to the streets.

-0-

Sherlock was alway one for the dramatics, never passed up the opportunity to be dramatic if he could be.

"Molly!?" Flinging the morgue's double doors, Sherlock forwent his new found trust in the white cane of freedom and strolled confidently into the large lab room with his cane neatly clasped in one hand dangling a few inches from the shiny white tile.

Aside from the flat, this was the only other place he felt comfortable to walk freely about. Though he still has a minimal percentage of his remaining sight, it made navigating the well-lit room easier because Sherlock knew Molly kept always it in pristine conditions from the first day she began to work there. It if had been cluttered and disorganised he would have sought out John's elbow along with the cane.

John followed close behind, but didn't make any noise. He wanted to know how Sherlock would act, every single time in the morgue lab was a completely new experience for them both.

When Molly poked her head out of the office, her heart might have jumped at bit, froze a bit, and swelled with joy a bit. That probably was a gross understatement...it wasn't _just a bit_, it was "bounding up and down with joy" to see her Sherlock resume his normal annoying, demanding, most of the time rude-self.

"I certainly don't appreciate his ungentlemanly mannersims, but it's so good to have him not sulk around the flat or cower behind John terrified of being see in public," Molly murmmered as she quickly crossed the room and stood directly infront of Sherlock.

"Well, well, well," she crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg, "Hello John. What do you need this time Sherlock?"

"You," he replied in a steady voice devoid of any emotion. John and Molly share the same wide-mouth, deer in the headlight expression. It was something entirely unexpected, but said man seemed unfazed by the reaction of his word.

"Say that one more time Sherlock?! I don't appreciate being tried with. Why are you really here? A request for body parts? Lab results? Hmm?" Her glaring eyes soon dissovlved in to a kinder one when she saw the twitch of a smile forming on Sherlock's face.

"Don't make me repeat myself Molly, you know I can't stand sounding like a broken record. I need you."

John cleared his throat softly and mumbled a soft "I'm going home to Mary," to the pair as he quickly vanished from the room. He felt terribly uncomfortable standing there watching the interaction, like he was intruding in a private conversation.

"Sherlock?" Molly's prompted gently while she directed them to her office and sat by his side, "would you like to elaborate on why you need my help? Can't help unless I know what I'm asked to do."

"I need you to analyse this," pulling the torn pieces of the invitation from a small plastic bag," the handwriting and ink need to be cross analysed with the first one. I'm sure these notes are connect to a single person who knows a great deal between the two big companies, and I would like to come with me as guests to the companies' dinner gathering. It's a formal arrangement, you'll need a full length evening dress," the moment Molly made a movement to accepted the paper he continued in his usual brisk rambling manner as if he hadn't asked Molly to attend a gathering with the sole purpose of fulfilling the 'guest and plus one', "the ink analysis should be the same since John told me the handwriting looks like the one who wrote the first one, but I require your confirmation of it. Lestrade's trained monkeys are suppose to find a connection between the two places and possibly a list of under the table behaviour."

Molly popped up as soon as he took in a breath, his hand in her left and the evidence in her right.

"Ok! Come on then," she practically had to drag the mildly stunned grown child to the lab tables. He hadn't taken in to account the possibility of her being so energetic, but he wouldn't deny enjoying it. He would have thought her to be stunned with the proposal, but she didn't even mention it. He didn't know to take it.

_Have I done wrong? Should I perhaps have started the conversation with that? proposal Why don't women even say what they think?_

-0-

Working meticulously through the analysis of both papers took quite a while, nearly four hours of hard thinking and waiting for the result papers. A single ring from Sherlock's mobile broke the duo's intense concentration.

"Hey Sherlock, come by the office tomorrow. We have a few points of interest the team found rummaging through the paperwork."

"Good. I'll let John now. See you tomorrow Lestrade."

Ringing off, he turned his attention back to Molly and her reading of the results.

Not even was she a minuet into speaking Molly's mobile rang, it was Mary with an invitation for dinner at the Watson's flat.

"Right then. Sorry Sherlock. Back to the results. So based on the composition of the ink and handwriting of the first one and now when compared with the second..."

Sherlock's mobile rung again loudly interrupting the pathologist's soft voice. With an exasperated sigh and dramatic eye roll, Sherlock picked up the call.

This time was John, but he didn't ring for an invitation to dine together. It was a loud tirade going off on "do you have any idea what time it is?" followed with an order to come back to the flat and eat. He might have also mentioned something about making sure Molly comes too, but Sherlock couldn't be too sure since his ears were filled with annoyance.

With Sherlock still being chewed out for not taking care of himself, Molly quickly gathered up the results, tidied the lab, and grabbed their belongings. Sometimes she enjoyed watching Sherlock be disciplined, it was like watching a small child being scolded for eating the last biscuit from the bin before dinner.

"Come Sherlock," she pressed his coat and cane in his open palms, "don't think we'll get anything more done now, especially with all these calls coming in and you being ordered home."

-0-

The two walked to Baker Street linked together, Molly on his left and the cane in his right. They were both laughing and acting silly causing a small spectacle on the pavement. Thankfully few were left on the street at that hour to watch them lose their composure and decorum.

Unknowing to them, Mary just chanced to pass by the window when she saw the sweet scene stroll up the street still tightly bound to each other, quickly she took a photo and sent it off to John with stern instructions not to tell Sherlock. She would tell Molly later, much later.

Waiting for the two to come home, Mary gaze at the photo smiling to herself. It was a sight she wanted to have happen for a long time already, it finally was starting to take form.

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for reading and leaving comments! I appreciate you taking time to do that. Some Mary and Sherlock conversations to come. :)**


	37. Tête-à-Tête : Heart to Heart

**Chapter 36**

* * *

_Waiting for the two to come up the flat, Mary gazed adoringly at the electronic image of Sherlock and Molly linked arm in arm laughing over something Sherlock had done to tease his companion. It was a sight she wanted to have happen for a long time already, it finally was starting to take form._

* * *

"Oh good! " Mary feigned with surprise opening the door knowing she had timed Sherlock and Molly's arrival to the flat perfectly, "just in time for dinner. Go wash up. John's laying out the table. Hurry."

Both complied without fuss and soon the whole dinner routine was in full swing. With happy hearts and full bellies, the foursome sat around the messy but empty-dished table chattering away about light-hearted news.

The conversation soon turned to preparations for the newest Watson family member. It wouldn't be too far away before the sound pattering footsteps would echo the rooms. Everyone was thrilled at the thought of a little one coming into the big wide world of everything.

Sherlock promised the expecting parents to teach "your offspring the very best of all the school subjects, especially Science, before he/she would attend primary school. After all, primary school would bore the child, my experiments will certainly engage the young mind to higher thinking levels."

It was an amiable notion, if not a bit worrisome. Who knows what knowledge Sherlock might impart on such a tender mind!? One can only imagine the dread of a little child running around screaming about death and dying with a happy smile. Bit too morbid for the new parents' liking.

Molly promised to spoil the child, and take long walks at the park- dutifully fulfilling her role of honorary auntie. An exorbitant amount of sweets may or may not have been included in the promise under the pretence of, "I don't remember what I just said, sorry."

"It's great to have such wonderful friends, isn't it?" Mary asked without having really expect an answer. She leant back in the seat and patted her little one.

Everyone fell into a comfortable silence dreaming about how the sound of little feet would change the rhythm of daily life.

-0-

The mother-to-be had been banned from doing laborious work, as if clearing the table was so, but she didn't mind and used the opportunity have a chat with her husband's best friend. As wife of best friend, she found herself in a very special position that was privy to much information otherwise unknown to most.

"Sherlock, how are you?" Mary gently pressured the musician strumming his violin in a guitar-hold fashion. He was softly playing a pastoral piece that he oft played when in happy spirits. Dining with good company put him the most pleasant of moods.

"Doing well, though I should be asking you that question?" He jokingly said with a pointed look that made Mary laugh and smack his wrist playfully.

"Here, you tell me. You're the consulting detective" She took the violin and laid it gently back in the case, then guided his hand to her abdomen. Mary would do her utmost to make sure both the child and Sherlock had the best relationship, there was no better time to start forming the bond than right then and there.

Feeling the child's subtle movements was a new experience for the supposedly emotionless man. Though children and child-rearing weren't in his foreseeable future plans, it did make him marvel at the complexities of biology from conception to parturition.

_It was, and always is- biology at its finest point._

"I believe you and the child are doing well. John will be happy when he or she is born," Sherlock commented as he continued to follow the unborn child's squirms, "That is all he speaks about. I do believe there is a running tally at the clinic to see who will guess the gender correctly, or so that is what John told me. What do you think?"

"He isn't the only one! I'll be glad when I can resume my normal body shape and see my feet again. It wouldn't matter either way to me, but something tells me our child will act just like you. Smart, wild, and crazy."

She caught his hand and held it in a gentle but firm manner, "Sherlock, will you tell me something? Will you promise to say only the truth when I ask?"

Fearing for what may come from Mary's mouth, he tried to retract his hand, but to no success. He complied reluctant knowing there wouldn't be a way out when Mary had her mind set on a matter. Of the subject he couldn't say for sure- that was the most concerning part.

"I will do my best to be truthful, what do you wish to know?" Sherlock asked softly so John and Molly, who were cleaning the kitchen, wouldn't overhead what was to be said.

"How are you? You know I expect more than a standard non-definitive response of Okay or Fine," Mary slowly pressed him for accurate words describing how he felt.

Few shared Sherlock's eye for spotting details at a crime scene, but that didn't mean they didn't have an eye for other matters. Molly and Mary excelled at nailing Sherlock for his pretences of goodness when he, in reality, was anything but "fine".

"I am," the confused one fumbled for words, "I think I am fine. I should be fine, why shouldn't I be? Yes.I am perfectly fine Mary," he waved his free hand as if it was a silly question to ask. "See? I came, ate and participated in conversation, even brought along Molly for companionship tonight. Yes, thing are going splendidly. We even made headway on the case, John will tell you details on that as you're required to help out. It's rather interesting, we're needed under the guise of guests at a masquerade."

Mary hmmed with understanding, knowing the more she stayed silent the more he would talk. It was a strange way of human behaviours, when one did not respond to conversation, the other would simply keep on talking. More often than not, it would eventually reveal a deeper meaning of the person's thought. This precisely described Sherlock, so Mary spoke little throughout their long heartfelt discussion.

In the end, Mary came to understand Sherlock's feelings on how he now navigates around different places, the countless interactions with strangers in awkward situations, and most of all- his lavish praise for John's sharp eye and specific wording that allowed him to "see" an entire room, thus solve cases. ***

-0-

"Sherlock," Mary spoke once the grown child uncurled himself from a ball and returned to a lounging position stretched across two of the three seat cushions, "I understand this is a difficult transition, but it's going so well. Don't worry about what others think, so what if the Yard finds it strange and stares? That's not important, you're there to solve the case, not parade around the place. I know John has had lengthy discussions with you about the cane, but you know it's for the best. Honestly so. Do you believe it?"

He stared above her with a blank expression trying to comprehend what she didn't say, not because he couldn't pinpoint where she was...it might have been a bit of both, but Sherlock wouldn't say it and Mary wouldn't have done anything either. There were so many lines in this relationship that could be crossed, but both knew which ones were acceptable and which were not. They trusted each other.

"Yes, I know. I know he means well," he returned with self-berating manner then spoke in a stronger voice, "But it's hard! Of course it's hard and I know that. I know I'm above average, well above average.

He chuckled, "In fact, if I were average Mycroft would tease me relentlessly, after all we are Holmes. We have a reputation to uphold. Expect nothing less than the extraordinary, that was our running line during our childhood years of schooling." The cheerful reminiscence quickly faded into a depressed sullen expression.

"Anyway, all this work of learning to carry on in a new way is not easy. If I didn't have to do something, I wouldn't. Simply completing any task takes twice the amount of effort that it once needed. For instance, eating whilst sitting at the table with all of you, is hard work! If John hadn't insisted I join in, I would have been quite content sipping on tea and eating from take-away containers. It's all too easy for something to terribly wrong with fragile dishes and sharp cutlery, like with me spilling the drink tonight because I over reached. Stabbing food on a plate without looking at it is not at all as easy as it may seems. With take away, the food doesn't run away."

"Yes. Sherlock. I understand how trying it can be, but you have no idea how happy your presence at dinner makes Molly and John feel. Myself included," she patted his shoulder sweetly, "It wouldn't be right be if we ate without you. It was just a spill no harm done. Don't beat yourself up over it, it was trivial matter. Don't you dare say anything about last week's dinner accidentally ending up on the floor either," she continued forcing his mouth to not let those words come out, " I won't have it.

Reaching out and gently directing his gaze precisely on hers, she leant forward and whispered, "Shall I tell you a secret? You must promise never to say it to anyone but me. If you did things might not go well between you and John. Understand?"

Sherlock nodded solemnly, found her soft gaze after a moment of searching, and moved closer to her.

* * *

**A-N: My apologies for the small cliff hanger, this chapter was becoming really long and I couldn't find a proper place to break it without losing the momentum. **

**Thank you for reading!**

***** Regarding John's sharp eye and understanding how Sherlock can "see" a room is found in story "You Have Always Counted" chapter 9 entitled 'Les Trois Mousquetaires'.**


	38. Their Empathy but His Confusion

**Chapter 37**

* * *

_Reaching out and gently directing his gaze precisely on hers, Mary leant forward and whispered, "Shall I tell you a secret? You must promise never to say it to anyone but me. If word slipped out then things might not go well between you and John. Understand?"_

* * *

Sherlock nodded solemnly, found her soft gaze after a moment of searching, and moved closer to her.

Mary drew him even closer and cupped her hands around his ear whispering so softly Sherlock had to focus hard to hear clearly.

Abruptly breaking their close embrace, the stunned one found it hard to comprehend her words.

_ I know what she said and the meaning of the words, but why? Why would she tell me something like that? Yes, I appreciate knowing. It's just a strange behaviour to understand, especially coming from John._

"Why?"was all Sherlock could come with to say aloud.

"Think. It's not hard," she pushed carefully, "John does it occasionally for a reason. In truth, I would be lying if I said he was the only who tried it out at times."

She placed his head on her left shoulder, then held him snugly whilst recalling an event she found her husband doing one day coming from work..._It was exactly ten steps from the front door to the banister and fourteen steps up that led into his previous flat- 221B. If John kept walking he would need to take three small right turning steps which put him at the base of the flight leading to his current flat of 221C._

_John counted._

_John walked with his eyes closed around their flat sometimes trying to accomplish little tasks without look. _

_John didn't want to just imagine it, he wanted to know what it felt like too._

_He wanted to show empathy._

_His best friend is blind. He wanted to know beyond the obvious._

-0-

Burying his head deeper into her shoulder, he wondered, _Mary too? Why would it matter to her? My blindness has no affects to her at all. Between John and I, we have much to work on for sharpening our skills and deducing situation. However, Mary doesn't need to know how John 'sees' for me. She's not the one at crime scenes. Her place is here, amongst the friends and a pleasing flat with good things, not at crime scenes. Still, why would John act in such a way? He needs to perfect the way I once could read details, that requires his eyes to be of use-not closed._

"Remember, we promised to help you Sherlock, in every which way possible. I know it's not at all the same as what your experiences are, but it's something close. Gives us an idea of how might be for you in day-to-day affairs. Quite the eye-opener, pardon the pun, Sherlock. We are tying to understand the good, the bad, and the worst. No, it's definitely not a complete understanding, but we at least can begin to help you when you're concerns come up."

The depth of his friends' affinity didn't strike him until Mary whispered those weighted words. They were such ones that held an unimaginable amount of emotions: concern, burden, confusion, misplaced annoyance and anger...it affected him strongly.

_Why would they choose to do such a thing? Did Molly copy their examples, Lestrade too? It is highly irrational and illogical of anyone to mimic it. Why refuse yourself something useful? I treasure what I still have. I understand what they've chosen to do, but I don't regard it as a disrespectful act, or a pretence of a fashionable show. Some who are blind perhaps may view it as mockery or an unhealthy obsession over the blind. Yes, it could appear that way to some, but I know that my friends' reasons are honourable... still it is a baffaling matter_.

-0-

Mary knew of her husband's behaviour, the one where he would randomly close his eyes and try his best to finish whatever task he was in the middle of.** Obviously, his best friend didn't have the option of using sight when his hands were at a loss of what to do.

So, with every effort John gave to a certain task only engrain deeper at how much effort Sherlock had expended to make any movement of his so graceful.

_ You make it look so effortless Sherlock, how?_

It did appear effortless, but that only came after many mistakes. There were the times he clipped his leg against the table corners or walked into someone- most of time being John- due to his lack of sufficient periphery . Then there were the occasions when he mistakenly flung things across the room because his depth perception was all but non-existant. With the right eye weaker than the left, it made knowing how far he should extend his hand to grasp the tea quite challenging. It resulted in several spilt teas and a few shattered mugs.

There was no mistake in the doctors' diagnosis and prognosis, Sherlock could literally see those fateful words fulfill themselves every single day, "I'm very sorry Mr. Holmes, your eyesight is receding quickly and there is no cure or sugery for it. Please, you have my sincerest condolences, but know that it is only sight you will not have, many other things you will come to enjoy."

Despite his various mishapsll in all, Sherlock's grasp of freedom was increasing more and more. No longer did he insist on staying glued to his chair and resisting any offer of food or help. He challenged every obstacle, be in using the cane in public, or successfully eating a meal without half of it ending up anywhere but his mouth.

In steady steps Sherlock was slowly adjusting to a new lifestyle. So, together in secret, Mary and John would him the best they could, which included their empathetic actions.

"Thank you Mary," Sherlock finally said after remaining silent for so long. He smiled his rare smile for her, she in return planted a kiss on his forehead.

"For you, anything and everything. Now, come and have some sweets with John and Molly. I made a nice pie, it should be ready now.

**A-N:** Refer to Chapter 16 " The Unexpected Package" of this story for understanding the Watsons' behaviour.**

**Many thanks to the one who reminded me they wanted to read some Mary-Sherlock interactions, more reminders are always welcomed. I had a good time writing this section.**


	39. Oh Dear! I Was Not Expecting That!

**Chapter 38**

* * *

_In steady steps Sherlock was slowly adjusting to a new lifestyle. So, together in secret, Mary and John would him the best they could, which included their empathetic heartfelt actions._

_"Thank you Mary," Sherlock finally said after remaining silent for so long. He smiled his rare smile for her, she in return planted a kiss on his forehead._

_"For you, anything and everything. Now, come and have some sweets with John and Molly. I made a nice pie, it should be ready now._

* * *

"This pie is delicious! You must tell me the recipe Mary dear," Mrs. Hudson happily munched away from her seat by Molly on the sofa. She polished off her first slice and proceeded to cut a smaller second helping, finally washing it down with a fresh cuppa.

"Of course, come over at your leisure and we'll bake a new one together. Molly, you come too, I know you enjoy baking." Mary placed one arm around Mrs. Hudson and the other on Molly. They were her newfound good friends and partners in crime. It was like a somewhat version of Charlie's Angels.

The threesome chatted a bit longer on plan for their baking adventure whilst the two men huddled off to the side around Sherlock's laptop working out the details of how to enter the masquerade without raising suspicions.

"Here Sherlock," John clicked on the text box of the screen which the robotic British voice read aloud an extremely dull monotone.

"This gives the host of the event and the times- exactly what we need. Have you told Molly yet?"

Sherlock pulled out one side of the headphones and shook his head, "No, I didn't explain the details. Only told her she needed an evening gown and to attend a gathering with me. I told her at the lab today when we were finishing the experiment."

Exasperated, John pushed the laptop aside, leant against the desk then spun the chair so Sherlock faced him directly, "How many times have we gone through this? You cannot, cannot just say something like that in such a vague manner then dismiss it as nonessential chatter. Think. What if I told you all of a sudden to come with me now and bring your violin. If that's all I said, would you like it?"

"I wouldn't say that I find it displeasing, but I wouldn't find it pleasing either, considering if you just dragged me off somewhere without telling me. You know my distaste for leaving the flat unless absolutely necessary. However, I could surmise a location and reason based on the revolving event and my need to bring Estella^^," he smirked knowing that wasn't the point of the discussion.

"Sherlock," John cautioned sternly before the ungrateful man could smirk any harder, "You are going to fix this. Now."

-0-

He hauled the pouting man up and guided them to their respective chairs after each claiming second helpings of the delicious pie, which was reduced to merely crumbs now.

"Ladies, have you heard of our latest case? I think you'll find it rather interesting, just came about a little bit ago. It's hardly the usual..." John began then trailed off ending with a deliberate cough and quickly covered with a bite of pie.

Sherlock knew that was cue to amend his wrong..._but it couldn't hurt just to tease John for a bit would it? After all, it was him who insisted on the direction of tonight's conversation. Suppose I play the ignorance card to sit here acting clueless. It just might irk him enough to tell it for me. Serves him right for chastising me like that!_

Three eager ladies cocked their heads slightly in confusion wondering why this particular case would be of interest. Mrs. Hudson was the least fond of her tenant's discussion of work related events, it made her slightly unsettled. Well, who wouldn't feel the same way about post-mortems and other morbid talk?

"Sherlock?" Mary spoke finally as neither man made a motion to do anything, "Would like to elaborate?"

"Don't listen to John, he's only going to bore you with details about handwritten notes and dishevelled office rooms, an infiltrating a business venture," He waved his hand dismissively and took a bite.

It seemed both men were in the same mind of eating to avoid being put on the spot to speak.

"Really? That's interesting, Sherlock. Does it have to do with what you told me at the lab today? About the fancy gathering and wearing an evening dress?" Molly's expressions matched her words of confusion whilst her mind spun all sorts of situations which might require her to assist in this odd way.

Not letting a moment pass by, Mrs. Hudson clapped in delight then patted Molly's arm gingerly, "I know you'll look darling in an evening dress. I'll help you pick one out. Come now Sherlock, we don't have all night for the proverbial other shoe to fall. Spit it out," she paused only long enough to to take a breath, "Might I just say, if you conjured up this plan to take sweet Molly out for the evening-there's no need. A polite and simple request will do wonders , none of that complicated diversions. I know you can be quite the charmer when you choose to act like a gentleman. Now then, out with the truth!"

-0-

It would be hard to say who turned a deeper red shade of embarrassment: Sherlock or Molly. The former probably won, since his plan to tease John backfired into something completely mortifying. All who heard the spiel did not expect the landlady to speak so forthright, especially since it was just her assumption- but an accurate one.

A lady of many wise years, she had her hunches for quite awhile in the two young ones. Though the reason for the fancy attire outing was indeed for the case, underneath it did lie another reason.

Sherlock had strong affection for Molly, it was clearly obvious if one knew how to look carefully at certain events.

It wasn't so much of a passionate romantic love, rather it was a mostly deep platonic affinity and respect for his lady. Mostly.

Sherlock stuttered a few unintelligible sounds as he tried to collect himself without making it appear as if he didn't appreciate his Molly, whilst said person choked violently on her pie.

_Did he really mean his invitation to the case as a guise for our friendship? I know he prefers to think of us as workmates or simply as "I am his asset when I can get him body part or morgue access."_

Her blushing came more so from his attempt at a rebuttal than Mrs. Hudson's bold words, knowing Sherlock couldn't see her blush brought her only a moment's worth of comfort.

Leaving nothing as a saving grace for Molly, John muttered a quick description of everyone's expression while the other two women softly whispered endearing comments to the chose one.

"Molly's blushing a lot, and trying not to smile. Mary looks like a bug-eyed fish out of water, and Mrs. Hudson looks far too pleased with herself, she's intimidating me. Sherlock! Look what you've done, should have listened to me when I told you to tell everything straightforward."

Setting the ambience back into an easy light hearted one was no easy task after what had transpired, but somehow John and Mary manages to turn the talk toward the finer details of the case and not of Sherlock's love life.

All the while, Molly paid little mind to what everyone else was chattering away about, she was still reeling at the thought of Sherlock finding her companionship pleasing.

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for reading and taking time to leave comments- they're lovely! Welcome new followers! Please enjoy. :)**

**^^Estella is the name of his violin, refer to her feature story "A Heart One Would Never Expect".**


	40. You Can't Hit Me! I'm Blind!

**Chapter 39**

* * *

_Setting the ambiance back into an easy light-hearted one was no easy task after what had transpired, but somehow John and Mary manages to turn the talk toward the finer details of the case and not of Sherlock's love life. All the while, Molly paid little mind to what everyone else was chattering away about, she was still reeling at the thought of Sherlock finding her companionship genuinely pleasing._

* * *

"...there you have it, the entire case laid out entirely with nothing missing. Now do you see why it is paramount we attend as guests," Sherlock paused for effect,"It'll be our only chance of apprehending the offending party and stopping the trail of bad business!"

Molly, and the Watsons voiced their understanding as they nodded in agreement with the plan. Mrs. Hudson had taken her leave shortly after the change in conversation as it was getting far too late for her liking to still be awake. Without fail, the automated clock mounted on the wall adjacent to the windows robotic voice screamed "one A.M."

"What do you propose as the plan for getting to the event and finding the persons that you're looking for?" Molly questioned as she re-entered the sitting room with a fresh brew and refilled everyone's cups.

He playfully scoffed at her question, but nodded his thanks when she placed the cup in his open palm. "That's easy, just show up, walk in, apprehend the suspects, and leave. So simple."

Though able to not see their expressions clearly, he had a fair guess everyone was giving him incredulous looks, "Come now! We are respectable members of society, and are invited to such events now and again. John and I have procured an invitation to the gala and given our consent. We five will be attending as valued friends of the hosts." He took a sip of the scalding hot tea, mindful to raise his little finger as he brought to cup up to his lips.

"Uh-huh. I see. Very funny," Mary quipped," And just how did you manage that? Do you even know who is hosting or what the event is for?"

"No and no, but according to Lord Posh over there, he deems it 'too boring' for us to know what will happen aside from just waltzing in and taking away the people who are the root of the bad money exchanges." John fired back with agitation for not being as well prepared as he would have liked to be considering the gravity of the whole situation. One misstep could bring ruin to the ordeal.

"I beg to differ," still maintaining his pretense as Lord Posh, " I never said such things, that's a preposterous idea John! Do think of better things to insult my intelligence with. I merely said the information was not as relevant as other information we have. For instance, this gala is actually a masquerade to celebrate the success of a huge business venture- namely this one," He pulled out his phone and opened to a screen shot of the local news article giving a detailed report, then handed it off for everyone else to finally connect the dots.

"So it's set!" Mary clapped her hands in delight, "We shall attend in proper attire, but do you have an actual plan for bringing to light the severity of what has happened? How will you know who's the victim and who's the criminal, it's not as if you have a detailed description on their personal appearance."

Rolling his eyes and sighing exasperatedly, Sherlock sat there and pouted for a full minute before speaking, "Why must you keep questioning me! This is a brilliant case, granted no deaths involved- but I'd actually prefer it that way, and I'm trying to prevent one from happening should the illegal activity keep going. I am brilliant at preparations! Don't you forget who organised your wedding, Mary dear." He shot a smug pointed look in her general direction, which earned him a couple not-so-soft punch in the arm.

"Oi! That hurts. Don't hit the blind man here! It's not right!" he bemoaned with a pretense of being mortally wounded cradling his left arm, "John! Your wife is out of control! She's resorting to physical violence. Do something!"

John did not so much as move a muscle, merely chucked in unison with Molly, allowing his friend the full experience of his wife's to be "wrath" unleashed.

"Come now Sherlock, You know better than that. You think a slight difference your appearance is going to change anything? Hmm?"

He opened his mouth in attempt for a rebuttal, but Mary simply pressed a finger to his lips to silence him, "I've smacked you before and I'll do it again," she drew him close and whispered with a grin," and I know you won't hit back. I know your mother taught you not to hit girls. Also, don't try that line on me again, you know it'll just earn you another good smack. If you want to play that game, just know that's my ace card.

Giving Sherlock's already painful arm another good firm smack, she then took up her tea acted as if nothing exciting had just transpired.

Slightly dazed and bewildered, Sherlock took to his tea, but was still reeling at Mary's word and actions. Undoubtedly, she had both insulted and praised his blindness in the same thought. Some woman she certainly is!

_Well she certainly is a force to be reckoned with! May I never find myself on her bad side. I can only imagine their child's tenacity, definitely not a pleasant thought._

He shuddered.

_I must admit though, I thought she would not have been so dismissive of my blindness- even made light of it. Poking fun at myself is a skill I'm still trying hard to refine, but neither John nor Molly were uncomfortable with it. I suppose they found it amusing too. Well, if it amuses them, then it amuses me too._

_-0-_

Molly, keen as ever, read in the subtleties of every person's mood and mannerism. She could feel the ambience shift suddenly from joking and good spirits to one of solemnity and pensiveness.

John. He was reclined in his seat absentmindedly tracing the rim of the now cold tea. He rejoiced at his best friend's progress.

Mary. She slowly sipped her tea, but wasn't actively drinking it in. She too was very pleased with Sherlock's progress, he did not recoil with disgust at her choice words. It was going well.

Sherlock, the poor dear, he looked so confused. It was as if he couldn't decide whether to be sad at mention of his blindness or glad of it. Perhaps it was a bit of both, she made a mental note to have a gentle conversation about that later.

Nevertheless, three of the four companions eyed each other quizzically trying to figure out what next, the fourth one cocked his head right and smirked. "I know you're talking, I can hear your eyeballs twitching. Do be a little quieter, it's deafening. I have no intention of joining in with Helen Keller just yet."

Without a warning, Mary struck his arm once again and whispered dangerously," You cheeky thing! Have you forgotten our conversation Sherlock, dear?" Ganging up on the man, Molly knelt down square in front of him and placed her hands on his shoulders, pulling him forward. "Mary, why don't you take his left and I'll take right?" Together the two of them poked, smacked, and harassed the poor man till he resigned to just lie there as a willing victim.

It was a lovely sight for any passerby, should there be any out strolling the streets in the wee hour, to witness the laughter and happiness in 221B Baker Street.

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for reading. I'm sorry to be away so long, it took a long time to think of how to finish the chapter.**


	41. The Horrors of Shopping with Women

**Chapter 40**

* * *

_"I know you're talking, I can hear your eyeballs twitching," Sherlock quipped, "Do be a little quieter, it's quite deafening. I have no intention of joining in with Helen Keller just yet."_

_Without a warning, Mary struck his arm once again and whispered dangerously," You cheeky thing! Have you forgotten our conversation Sherlock, dear?" __Together the two ladies poked, smacked, and harassed the poor man till he resigned to just lie there as a willing victim. A happy willing victim. __It was a lovely sight for any passerby, should there be any out strolling the streets in the wee hour, to witness the laughter and happiness in 221B Baker Street._

* * *

After an incredibly slow start to morning activities, Sherlock and John finally sauntered into the Yard at the oh-so-early hour of 10A.M. It might have been even later if a certain someone didn't call or text every twenty minuets demanding when the troublesome duo would finally make an appearance.

"Well. At last you two finally decide to grace us with your belated presence." Lestrade greeted with good humour and friendly sarcasm, then pressed a fresh brew of coffee into their hands. "By the way, Sherlock you look terrible. John, you're none the better. Are you two having a competition to say who looks the worst today?"

"I wouldn't know, now would I?" The tallest man retorted with a devilish grin and made an elaborate show of covering his eyes, "I can't tell you if he looks horrible or not, but I would favour the former given John's deep affinity for those terrifying jumpers. Today is no different, still is wearing one he is. What colour is it? I sincerely hope not the tan one."

Prying the hand away from the face, John joked gently, "Just how much are you able to see Sherlock, because this is the fourth time you nailed me for wearing your least favoured jumper."

"What?! Do you doubt my blindness John?! I'm hurt. Deeply. Cut right to the core. Ohhh..." He made a pretense of wailing mournfully loud causing the whole floor to gawk shamelessly at them.

"What with him?" Lestrade mouthed to the doctor, he'd never seen Sherlock behave in such an erotic and sarcastic manner. The latter merely shrugged and dragged off the man-child before he could cause further troubles or embarrassments.

"Sherlock. Get a hold of yourself," John whispered then jabbed his ribs sharply, "Are you okay? I've never seen you act so...so... Unlike your usual serious self."

"Perfectly," he said in a clipped authoritative voice, and straightened his Belstaff, no trace of what had trespassed a moment ago. "Perfectly fine. Now go be my eyes. We have a case to close now."

Waiting till the inspector was out of earshot he sadly added in, "It's not very much anymore, since you asked." John felt Sherlock's grip tighten around his forearm. "Never mind that though, I don't need to see at all to know your jumper fashion sense alarm everyone."

-0-

Reverting back to his typical nonchalant self, Sherlock circled around the large solid oak oval table in the Yard's meeting room, mindful to keep a finger trailing the edge constantly.

"Now then Lestrade, what is that you found? Something important I trust?"

"Yes, here." The elder one pulled out a stack of transaction print-offs and sprawled them all over the table chronologically. "This," picking up the earliest dated one, "shows the beginning. On this one account it shows a withdrawal of several thousand, but the end of month statement doesn't reflect the change. However, the exact amount shows up as a deposit in a different account. One of particular that is located off shore somewhere by the Indian Ocean. What do you make of all this, Sherlock?"

"Not at all surprised. It is as I had expected. Bad business. Money laundering is grounds for charges. Someone went to great lengths to hid the interaction, but someone else wasn't content and thus led to the office break-ins and notes. Have you a list of everyone that is somehow related to this?"

"Yea. This one Sherlock," John pipped in, picking up another paper from the table, "It's a long list. I won't read them all to you right now. It's a collection of names and positions within their respected companies."

"Very interesting. This is an exciting case. We close tomorrow tonight. Come to the flat dressed sharp and we'll discuss how to catch them at the masquerade." Sherlock turned for the door.

"Not so fast there Speedy! Haven't you forgotten? You," John poked him in the chest, "You need to be dressed sharp too. We're going to find something suitable to wear. I don't trust your own judgment of it quite frankly."

"John, do you insult me again with my lack of sight? I'll have you know, I'm perfectly capable of dressing appropriately for the occasion, I have excellent taste in colour and style." He turned up his nose and smirked.

Placing a hand on each man's shoulder, Lestrade cut them off their bantering, "Children. Behave. Now, quit bickering and come with me, I'm driving. We all need a few things if we're to look decent for tomorrow. However, John is right Sherlock, I'd like a look before you walk out the door. You don't have a very good record of appearing in public with suitable clothing."

"Namely a sheet 'in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on.'" John coughed violently mimicking Mycroft's exact words.

* * *

Elbow deep in flour, Molly was pounding out the life in her poor dough while Mrs. Hudson was carefully tending to her precious herbs and sauces for her meat dish. Picking out the perfect combination of both requires skill and gut instinct, neither of which Mary claimed to have, thus left the mother-to-be in charge of finding a delicious dessert recipe.

"Looks wonderful Molly, I can tell you're quite the baker. Smells heavenly too Mrs. Hudson, the mint is just the right touch," finally selecting a dessert Mary showed the card to them, "Shall we?"

After all the cooking, baking, and cleaning finally finished, three exhausted ladies collapsed on the sofa of 221C. Sleep quickly came upon them and held them hostage for a couple hours before they woke. Rejuvenated and feeling daring, Charlie's Angels set off to find the best gowns before their men returned home.

Entering the fourth shop, Mrs. H bounded around with such vigour from rack to rack admiring the taffeta cloths and beaded bodices, murmuring little comments of endearments and happy sighs. All the while, the two younger sprigs sought the nearest bench to rest their tired selves.

"Don't believe I've ever seen her with this much energy before, you didn't lace her tea did you now Mary?" Molly asked with jealously, wishing she had whatever it was that made the older lady wide awake.

"How should I know? She made the pot." Mary quipped, "Whatever it is, I'd gladly take a cuppa. This child is certainly like his father, never one to make things easy. He's bounding around right now, bet he'll be absolutely full of himself tomorrow night and make me absolutely miserable."

"Should we call it a day then? Don't want to wear either of you out now. Wouldn't be healthy. John'll 'ave my head if he knows we dragged you about and you became ill.

"Certainly not! We must be ready for tomorrow night. Come!" Mary grasped Molly's wrist and made a beeline for the closest rack, which just so happened to be of blue and green gowns.

"Oh my! Molly! This one. What do you think of it? It would look absolutely stunning on you. Come. It's your size. Try it on." Mary pressed the hanger into the young doctor's hand and shoved her toward the dressing room.

Emerging from the "Well, I look ridiculous in this, dressed up like a circus monkey. Definitely not wearing it. Just look! I've never worn anything so fitted or puffy. It doesn't work."

"Fine,but you're wrong. It's beautiful. Let's go find another one then," Mrs. H and Mary dragged the unwilling participant through dozens of racks decked out with gowns of all colours and styles.

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for reading!**


	42. The Horrors of Shopping with Men

**Chapter 41**

* * *

_"John, do you insult me again with my lack of sight? I'll have you know, I'm perfectly capable of dressing appropriately for the occasion, I have excellent taste in colour and style." He turned up his nose and smirked._

_Placing a hand on each man's shoulder, Lestrade cut off their bantering, "Children. Behave. Now, quit bickering and come with me, I'm driving. We all need a few things if we're to look decent for tomorrow. However, John is right Sherlock, I'd like a look before you walk out the door. You don't have a very good record of appearing in public with suitable clothing."_

_"Namely a sheet 'in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on.'" John coughed violently mimicking Mycroft's exact words._

* * *

Much to the chagrin of the walking beanpole, who was being forced into shopping, pouted and dragged his feet along the pavement. Sherlock was brandishing the cane more like a spear held upright than use it for its intended purpose. John and Lestrade nearly managed to avoid getting struck on the shins with the cane repeatedly, each would show a few red welts by the next day.

"Where are we going NOW!?" Sherlock whined after they exited the second clothing store still empty-handed. "Couldn't you find what you were looking for in the first one, or better yet, the second one? How hard is it to find a dinner jacket and bowtie?! It's only for one night, Lestrade. Don't be picky."

"Oi! Watch yourself!" He scolded, without missing a beat Sherlock dead panned, "Sorry. So sorry. Can't."

"Ha! Quite the comedian you are today. Besides, you haven't one either, so you're not one to talk."

"Never mind me, I can just steal one of Mycroft's and have it tailored to me. It's not as if he'd miss it, or can wear three tuxedoes at the same time. That pompous oaf probably wouldn't even notice, too busy causing mayhem elsewhere."

-0-

Sherlock tucked his cane in the coat pocket, latched on John's arm and reluctantly entered the third shop hoping they would walk out with purchases.

A young petite lady in early thirties dressed to the letter in a custom tailored black blazer with a matching pencil skirt and fiery red hair tucked neatly into a low-rise bun welcomed the troublesome trio.

"Good day, how may I serve you gentlemen?" only small traces of a northern accent danced over her words.

"Yes. Hello. We're here looking for dinner jackets. Any recommendations?" John answered politely before Sherlock could have a chance to deduce the shop attendant and insult her in the process.

"Of course. Follow me." She led them to the farthest left corner of the shop. On the racks were lined in the latest fashion of jacket cuts, colours,and fabrics; some were double-breasted, other had piping trimming the edge, and still others were in unusual colours.

"What is the dress you will be attending?" She asked and pulled out a massive catalogue.

"A masquerade, but we'll be coming in black tie instead." Again John answered for his mates, being he didn't trust what Sherlock might say, and Lestrade was too lost in his own thoughts about this place.

"Very well, here is our selection," she pointed at the page, "Please take your time. I'll come by in a moment to take your sizes and bring samples." With those words, the attendant spun on her black kitten heels and left for the front counter.

The moment she disappeared, Sherlock's sweet and cheery persona fell flat, "Lestrade? Lestrade?! Pay attention! We're here because you need things for tomorrow night. Now, hurry and pick something so we can leave."

As if out of nowhere she rematerialised next to Sherlock with an arm full of dinner jackets, "Not so fast there sir, you're not casually browsing for whatever catches your eye. These clothes are specific, must be chosen with great care. Now, I've brought some samples as to which you might like for black tie. This is the standard style jacket for black-tie coupled with satin trimmings on the side of the trouser. If you would prefer something a bit different take a look at this one with..."

On and on the attendant talked about every piece of clothing she brought to them. First it was jackets, then bow tie styles and fabrics, next it was dress shirt pleats and wing-tipped collars...the list went on and on.

Lestrade seemed to be taking it all in stride, keenly interesting in picking out the most suitable attire for the evening without digging a hole in his pocketbook. By then she had gone away with the samples and the elder man's sizes.

It was all jolly and pleasing until he heard two distinct voices having a row a few feet away from him. _A row in public, how embarrassing!_

"...No. I don't need it. Don't want it. I don't wear neckties, and certainly not bow ties. You know that John! Don't get me started on cufflinks, can't stand those. I tossed the gift the Yard sent me to Mycroft as soon as we left."

"...Not acceptable. Pick something or I will and you won't like my decision. I can guarantee it." John fired back, clearly annoyed with his mate's childish attitude rearing up again.

"You wouldn't dare. I know it goes against your principles of being a good human being. Besides, if I were to look ridiculous, people wouldn't question my blindness, they would question you asking how did you let me go about in public dressed outrageously. I would think it through carefully if I were you, sinister plans often backfire."

Though right he was in every word, John stilled himself not to smother Sherlock with punches as he has done that one night which led them to be kicked out of three restaurants. _The nerve of that man! How infuriating!_

"Please! Not here! Not now!" Lestrade strained in his best voice trying to hide the irritation, "I've found something suitable. John, have you?"

"Yes, I have. Come Sherlock, take my arm. We're going to the dressing room." A quick walk around the corner brought them men to an elaborate display of full-length mirrors in a concave bent to show every side of a person's dress. "Now, here Sherlock. There's a chair to your left. Sit and don't move. We'll be right back. In the meantime, please come up with something appropriate for tomorrow night."

* * *

With that, only two persons remained: Sherlock and their assistant. Seizing the opportunity he put his plan to action.

"Ma'am?" He had hoped she didn't leave without telling him, it would have been a bit awkward to be talking to himself.

"Yes, sir? How may I help you?"

"I'm looking for a very specific dinner jacket that has..."

"Certainly, please follow me." She beckoned with a hand

"Only if you lead the way," he smiled genuinely, pulled out his cane and twirled it a couple of times before offering his free hand to her. He felt her shoulders move as she laughed softly.

Latching on to her petite arm, he smiled again. The ease of her guiding intrigued him, not even John felt this at ease. It was a strange feeling. _Perhaps she had known I was blind, or perhaps not-it didn't matter to me. Regardless, she didn't make any show of it. She wasn't flustered at her actions, nor did she apologise and act awkwardly because she knew him to be blind. It was the ideal situation, and handled with grace...almost as if she had done it before._

In the short trek from the dressing room to the rack of dinner jackets, Sherlock had deduced almost every bit of her life.

Her name is Aileen from Perth, but moved all around Great Britain with her four younger siblings, never staying in one place for more than a few years...typical reason of father's job transfer and the like. She graduated with honours at a prestigious university with the intent of joining the fashion world and building her own clothing line of formal attire. "Soon Mr. Holmes. Soon. Just a year or so left. One day you'll walk in here and the very jacket you'll come looking for will have my name on the inside collar," she whispered into his ear.

Aileen stopped in front of a rack, then guided his hand to the hangers, "Here's what you asked for, they are sorted by fabric and design together. I'll be back in a moment, please take your time."

"Wait Aileen," he turned to her, "I'd rather you're here to tell me what I am looking at. In cases such as this, I trust your eye better than my own."

"Very well Mr. Holmes, trying to be silly aren't you? The one in your left is made by Moss. Esq. and in your right is by Ted Baker, you can note the differences in..."

-0-

Reemerging from the dressing room back in their own clothes, Larry and Moe were not dismayed when their Curly was no longer sitting where they had left him. It was to be expected unfortunately, that man never listened to anything.

Just as John and Lestrade were about to part ways in a manhunt, Aileen appeared suddenly before them. How she managed to come unnoticed to them again was a bit baffling. "Were the clothes to you liking?"

"Yes, we'll have these. Thank you. By the chance, you don't happen to know where our friend has gone, Sherlock." Lestrade inquired.

"He has a habit of running off especially when told not to," John added in, "He tends to cause mischief when left to his own devices."

"The tall handsome fellow with black curls, a quick wit, and quite the eye for fashion; if you mean him, then yes I do know where he is. He's waiting for you to ring up everything. Please, come with me."

_Eye for fashion Sherlock certainly has, wearing his best whilst lounging around the flat. Poor Aileen, I hope we'll be allowed back here now that Sherlock had a chance to talk with her._ John muttered disapprovingly.

After a quick transaction, the three bid Aileen goodbye and headed for the flat. John could have sworn he saw Sherlock wink in Aileen's direction, but maybe it was his imagination getting paranoid. In all that had happened, no one thought to ask what was in Sherlock's hand when they left the store.

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for reading and your sweet comments! Hope you enjoyed their adventure.**


	43. So Begins the Mayhem to Come

**Chapter 43**

* * *

_After a quick transaction, the three bid Aileen goodbye and headed for the flat. John could have sworn he saw Sherlock wink in Aileen's direction, but maybe it was his imagination getting paranoid. In all that had happened, no one thought to ask what was in Sherlock's hand when they left the store._

* * *

"Oh my goodness Sherlock! What happened to your eyes?" Molly gasped at the ghastly sight of Sherlock walking into her lab at the morgue with his dishevelled appearance. His hair was a wild tangle of curls, but otherwise, he overall appearance wasn't alarming (well almost). She was called in on emergency to finish some important details after the shopping adventure with Mary and Mrs. Hudson. As to why he was here in front of her was mystery. _I thought you were busy with the case at the Yard?_

"Really! Come now Molly," Sherlock rolled his eyes and scoffed in a matter-of-fact way," You know perfectly well what has happened to my eyes. In fact, I recall you being there from the start. I believe it was you I told first when I received my prognosis about my eyesight, noting how they would cease to function as intended as time passes." He slid his hand along the wall until he came upon her working table.

"Sherlock! Stop being sassy," Molly turned off the microscope, closed the report, and rounded the table to stand in front of Sherlock, "Tell me though. What did you do to your eyes? Is this one of your self-experimentation? You know you're prohibited from doing so." She felt anger building up; he had promised her and everyone over and over again that he would only experiment under supervision.

"Quite right you are. No Molly, I am a gentleman of my word. I would never do such a thing in fear of receiving another strike across the face. Observe closely Molly, what do you see?" He dipped his head toward her eye level.

Sherlock!" Molly heaved an exasperated sigh and cupped her hands around his face, peering intently at those two (currently) solid black orb that made her own pupils dilate, "Why in the world would you wear contact lens that are opaque? Where did you even get these? Can you still see with these? Are they safe? When are you going to take them off? Are they really necessary?"

"Can you stop asking me questions? Bam-bam-bam-bam, so no-one's got a chance to reply**," Sherlock returned with the same intensity of Molly's questions.

Sorry, but do answer my questions. You look like a man who has two giant black holes where his eyes should be. I hate even the thought of it, but you look like the personified form of Death, with his black hood, scythe and all. It's a very unsettling appearance. Please take them off. I don't like looking at them, I'd rather see your natural eye colour. They're much nicer." She gently closed his eyelids and massaged the each eye in slow circles. "Please Sherlock?"

"I can't. It's for a case." He answered cryptically and turned away from her touch.

"Here. Come with me," she led him to her office and guided him to the big comfy rolling chair,"Tell me now. Please Sherlock. I demand a good explanation for why you are coming to me in this unsettling state."

"Very well," he sighed in mock defeat,"You win on one condition."

"...and that is what exactly?" waving her wrist in the gesture when one wanted someone else to keep speaking, "I'm not the one who pieces things together? That's your job, I perform post-mortems examinations. You can't just stop talking on a sentence like that Sherlock."

"I'll tell you after, first the case and the reason for this ruse," pointing at the obvious, "This is for the case concerning the stolen articles from the big business corporation John and I are currently working on. We have narrowed it down to three criminals who have (for us) the fortunate habit of hiding poorly in plain sight. Their attempts to blend in with a crowd have failed miserably, but unfortunately (for us) their agility makes up for their lack of intelligent thought process, thus why we have yet to actually catch them though we know the persons directly."

Molly nodded with understanding trying to connect the information she already knew from him being on the case so long already, and figuring out how that necessitated her him the need to change his eye colour.

"So, explain to me this part then," she questioned and resumed softly caressing the area keeping the pain at bay. So far it was working, he visibly softened at her touch, but wouldn't dare voice his appreciation of it.

After remaining silent for some moments, he resumed where he left off, completely side-stepping her question, "Lestrade and John have both chosen very dull masques, they describe it as "typical, conservative, yet fulfils the purpose. Here, have a look," he pulled out his mobile and used the automated voice-over to locate the picture.

"I think they are some dapper gentlemen with their top hats and dinner jackets. A masque doesn't have to be extravagant Sherlock, theirs is just fine. A small black velvet fabric covering around the face from nose up is perfectly fine, and suits them well. Now, let me see yours."

"Ah. Ah. No. Not just yet," he locked the screen and pocketed the mobile before she could reach out and scroll through the rest of pictures, "You'll find out tonight. After all, you promised to accompany me on this part of the case. These black eyes are part of the costume and that's all you'll see until you and Mary come in the limousine reserved for the event. It was Mycroft's idea, but I thought you wouldn't object to such an offer, so I accepted it on the premise you would like it. The three of us will arrive ahead of you to scope out the place and plan on how to arrest the three."

"Fine," Molly pulled him to his feet and felt the hands on his wristwatch, "best get going home then or else you won't have time to make there early. Can't wait to be surprise."

She all but shoved him out the morgue with a final warning demanding an answer about those black eyes. Quickly Molly finished her day's work at the pathology lab then sought out her ally for getting themselves ready for tonight's event.

"Mary! I'm heading home now. Ready to come over to my place?" Molly spoke in the speaker whilst juggling between her paperwork, personal bags,the mobile, and walking out the hospital doors.

"Wonderful timing dear. The men just stormed up the stairs causing quite a racket. I'm a bit worried for how the house will look if I leave," she joked whilst gathering up her elegant evening gown, brand new high heels, and the cosmetic pouch, "I'm nearly about to leave. Meet you at the flat."

The two rung off and each scurried around frantically trying to get to the flat as quickly as public transportation would take them.

Somehow, perhaps by chance, the two arrived to Molly's flat at the same time. After setting down and finally organising all the materials needed for the evening, the two ladies set about dressing up to the level fit for a masquerade.

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for reading.**

**** Tip of the hat to a wonderfully written series with much excitement and fiery personalities: Broadchurch. I highly recommend watching it.**


	44. Grown Men are Still Boys

**Chapter 44**

* * *

_Some how, perhaps by chance, the two arrived to Molly's flat at the same time. After setting down and finally organising all the materials needed for the evening, the two ladies set about dressing up to the level fit for a masquerade._

* * *

A considerable amount of time was spent on making sure every single strand of hair was in its proper places and doused with about half a litre of hairspray to ensure it's co-operation for the entire night. After make-up and hairstyles were finally adjusted to suit each one's liking, the two ladies eagerly donned the ball gowns.

"You know, Sherlock must have hounded me about twenty different ways all through text message wanting to know what we kind of dresses we went shop for that afternoon," Mary mused as she laced up the back of Molly's stunning floor-length dress, "For once he couldn't deduce it and I'm very glad of it! Hate to spoil such a fine night with his unwanted deductions. Let him be surprised every now and then. Especially with the looks of you tonight will be extra special for him."

"Oh, stop it." Molly blushed a deep red and rubbed her cheeks in attempts to cover it, "He is very persistent, isn't he? Tried to wheedle the information out of me this afternoon too, but I wouldn't have it. Well, in all fairness, he wouldn't show me what he would wear except for those horrid black contacts. He claimed they were for this case, but I never know what exactly to think with the man. He's a strange one definitely!"

Molly twirled her finger motioning for Mary to turn around, "It's your turn to let me fasten your dress. Just think of John's face when you step out of the limousine tonight, I am sure it will be a moment to capture. I don't think I've ever worn a dress to this extravagance before. Both of us in lace-up corset gowns with complimentary high-heels and jewels to accompany it, all thanks to Mycroft's overflowing pocketbook."

"Enjoy it, because I'm enjoying my part of it. I don't think we'll ever have another chance like this again." Mary pondered out loud.

Come," she motioned to the doorway, "let's stay in the sitting room. We have about twenty minuets until our chauffer arrives. How do you think the men are faring?"

"Hard to tell, but I would assume not nearly as efficient as they would claim to be considering Sherlock detest bow ties and neckties with equal passion. So, I would think they haven't even pulled the clothes off the hangers yet."

* * *

_Meanwhile several streets away a less-than-calm situation was taking place...well, firstly because grown boys were involved and that rarely goes as planned...and the second was..._

"What do you mean you don't know where it is!? How could you not know! I left them here for a reason, so Molly and Mary won't know what I'm going to wear. I never thought you'd actually lose my shoes!" Sherlock screeched at his companions. The other two were frantically rummaging around John's old bedroom trying to find the pacing tiger's pair of dress shoes.

His dress shoes. _Of all things he's obsessed over, shoes... Those solid black, custom-made Oxfords polished so much the sun's beams bounced off them._

"Now, Sherlock, just have a seat," Lestrade took the barefoot fuming consulting detective to a chair, then started turning over everything in the room, "We'll get this sorted out in a jiffy. Must be a little misunderstanding and got misplaced. Any success there John?" He called out to the man with his head buried deep in the closet haphazardly throwing random articles of clothing over his shoulder.

"No."

By accident one flew straight into Sherlock's face, "John," he warned in a menacing voice, "What is the meaning of assaulting me with your," he paused and fingered the fabric, "with your jumper. In particular, the jumper I experimented on multiple times to test the corrosiveness of different chemical strengths on fibres."

"Ah yes, here is one of the holes," he smelt the fabric, "still reeks of the acids, I'm surprised you kept it. You know it's neither typical nor socially acceptable for a man of your age to wear raggedy, torn, unkempt clothes."

John couldn't help but hurl another one of his poor experimented on jumpers on him. he asked for it.

"Don't roll your eyes at me John, I know you far to well to know that is exactly what you've just done and are doing now," he mocked John's facial expressions with much exaggeration.

"Must we have another discussion on social etiquette? First, it was tardiness, and now it's about dress and grooming. What is the world coming to!?" Sherlock moaned with disdain, "Your lack of proper interactions with others is appalling. Really! Still another one?"

He held up another jumper in equally poor condition as the first one, then flung one at John and one in Lestrade's direction only missing their positions by a few inches.

"Well now you've done it Sherlock," Lestrade commented with a wicked grin and wadded the jumper ready to throw when he was pelted with another article of clothing by John's strong arm.

Armed with a dress shirt and jumper, Lestrade chucked one at each of them before hastily retreating behind the desk.

With three grown boys and an arsenal of throwable objects, the room then became dangerous war zone. In only a matter of minuets, John's usually neat and military-like ordered bedroom turned into the after effects of a tornado's path.

"Surrender! I surrender!" John called out whilst trying to fight off the other two grown boys who were a tangle of limbs on top of him. "Let me go! Please guys!" He struggled again, but that was a mistake. Lestrade didn't expect John's arm to wrench free from his death-grip, so the force of the release threw the elder man off balance and his bony shoulder punched into Sherlock's side. "Oww!" If they hadn't know better they would have thought Sherlock turned in to a screeching cat just about to take a bath.

"Might I point out at this moment to state, I am very glad Mrs. Hudson took the opportunity to go to market," Sherlock shifted so Lestrade rolled off his side with a muffled thud, "I shudder to think of Mrs. Hudson to walk in on us in this very unflattering position."

"Really Sherlock! Only _NOW_ that thought crossed your mind! Bit late if you ask me," the elder one shot back and sat on his heels snickering at the still tangle limbed duo.

"You..You're insufferable! Come on, we should get ready for the case tonight." He hauled his friend to feet, which were still bare at this point. "Well look here! You'll never guess what I found under this mess that you've made."

"Oh, pick me pick me! I want to guess. You finally found my shoes that I gave to _you_ specifically to watch over for safekeeping. I'm right, aren't I. " he deadpanned.

"Yes you brilliant oaf! Now here, get dressed. Don't want to be late tonight!" John shoved the shoes and bag in his friend's arms and directed him to the bathroom.

* * *

**A-N: Many thanks for reading and commenting! I do appreciate it very much. Just a couple chapters left then on to the Broadchurch story! Keep an eye out for a new Sherlock story though, can't forget about the crazy antics of Sherlock &amp; Co.**


	45. A Masquerade Not a Horror Film

**Chapter 45**

* * *

Minutes later three dapper men sauntered into the sitting room, two were dressed to the letter in the finest jet black wing-collared fabric, secured in the middle with a white satin custom tailored V-cut pointed waistcoat, and tied off with a crisp silk white bow tie at the neck.

As for the third companion, he too was decked out in the best formal attire available, but it was a ghastly shade of bright red instead of the customary solid black.

"What?! Sherlock!" Lestrade exclaimed as he and John turned around to face their third companion, "What happened? Is this what you asked Aileen to help you find at the store?! You look terrible! And that red is an alarming shade, too bright and looks too wild. Why couldn't you have just worn what John and I are wearing now? Black Nice solid black tails with white on the inside? Did you forget this is a White-Tie event we're attending?"

"Yea mate, hate to break it to you," John threw in his two cents shaking his head incredulously, "but that red suit is really quite something. Never thought you'd wear something that crazy. Makes my eyes hurt just looking at it, not to mention what YOU have done with you're eyes! I'd ask, but I don't think I want to know the answer to that."

John handed his masque to Sherlock, "You do realise this is a Masquerade!? We are under the guise as guests, not attending a circus as the performers, you remember? We are trying to blend in, not stick out as walking targets! You of all people! You're rather obvious even in your everyday clothes and now wearing red certainly doesn't help at all. Nothing screams "walking target" better than bright red plastered on every single part of your body."

An exasperated John sunk into his chair heaving a frustrated sigh.

"Sherlock," Lestrade whispered, "best to put the bow tie on before John goes off on you again."

"I heard that, Greg," he didn't bother to look up, merely pointed a finger sternly at Sherlock's neck and ordered, "Find it and tie it. I don't want a repeat of last time,** and don't give me any grief about it."

"But John," the dapper red-coated gentleman countered in a sarcastically juvenile whine with false airs of annoyance, "But I can't see so I won't be able to tell if my bow tie will be straight so why must I bother with these trivial things. Bow ties are just decorative strangulation devices. I prefer to attend this function without feeling like I will die out from suffocation at any given moment. Afterall, our mission is to apprehend someone, not become a corps ourselves."

Sherlock crossed his arms in huff," Besides, what if I DO want to look like a walking target?! Hmm?! That is my personal choice. As for my eye, it's merely colour-contacts. How do you find them? I hope I look frightening. It's for the case."

The two men burst out in a wild boorish laugh with John finding his ability to speak first. "Sherlock. You alone are frightening, you certainly didn't need to dress up for that. With your creepy black eyes and bright red dinner jacket it certainly looks more like a horror film than a masquerade.

The two proper gentlemen shook their heads as they sighed exasperatedly.

_Why can't that man act like a man at times?_

"Yea. Yea. Sherlock, quit your fussing and just tie it," so the man-child compiled with Lestrade's request, digging out the midnight-black satin fabric and deftly knotting it into its "butterfly" form.

Lestrade helped straightened the wings on Sherlock's bow tie, then gathered up his own crisp white dinner gloves, "We have to leave now, or else if we're late the entire thing will be done for nothing."

He took the leading in heading out of the flat, followed by a pouting childish man and his adult best friend. They looked like pieces that fell off a checker board game: Black. Red. Black.

* * *

Upon arriving to the elegant place with much time to spare, the gentleman dawdled in the antechamber until their ladies arrives. The limousine had just as it pulled up to the decorative double-door entrance as so as the the chauffeur opened the passenger door.

"Sherlock," John nudged him in the side softly and whispered so Lestrade couldn't hear, "you know the term 'drop dead gorgeous'," Sherlock nodded slowly knowing where the comment was headed, "Yea. well, that phrase doesn't even measure up to my Mary. She's absolutely stunning with this teal short-sleeves gown with glittering fitted fabric on the top and the lower skirt part looks kind of like a metallic teal/purple mix when she walk and the light hit it a certain way. There's even the glittering stuff in her pinned up hair with those flower pins Mycroft gave as our wedding gift."

The love-struck husband offered his hand for his wife to take once the chauffeur escorted her to him. "Hello my Mary, you look absolutely stunning tonight," he commented and finished with a kiss to her cheek.

"Thanks love. Wait till you see Molly's dress. Hers is one-of-a-kind beauty."

"Tell me Mary please, you're the only one who knows. It really was a poor choice in her part to kept that information withheld?" Sherlock asked as he impatiently fidgeted with his cuff links waiting for his lady to emerge from the shiny mobile.

The elegantly dressed lady in a soft pink flowing gown took her escort's forearm and led them to the gathering crowd into the main foyer.

"Now will you tell me?" Sherlock whispered into her ear as she skilfully guided them through the massive hallway without either of them bumping into the other guest, "I've waited long enough, I deserve to know what you and Mary went shopping for that one afternoon, don't I ? John tells me you're very pretty and Mary called you magnificent. I must know. What do you look like tonight?"

"I suppose you've been good," she teased, "I would tell you everything, but I think you'll have more fun deducing my appearance tonight. My entire gown is a soft pink, and the skirt is many layer that puff out from my waist. I feel like a clown dressed up in something so elegant, so out of place," and picked at the gold-trimmed pink bow at the corner of the bodice.

She smoothed away his wavy hair that came loose from the hairspray and fell over his masque, "You cleaned up nicely. I always knew you were dashingly handsome, but having tails and bow-tie makes it so much better. Red is a good colour, but why red? You don't particularly favour that colour so why red, instead of the customary black?," she glanced around at the attire of the others,"everyone else is wearing either a black, dark blue, or bright white dinner jacket set."

"Oh, no reason in particular, but tell me now." He cupped his arm around her petite waists as they meandered through the small tables offering hors d'œuvre and apéritifs.

"Would you care for some cheese cuts or a small sweet, dear?" Molly politely filled her plate with a few things so not to seem unappreciative of the host and gathering. He shook his head and gently pushed her plate away.

"Tell me the room Molly. I must catch him tonight." He unfolded his red-tipped white cane awaiting her lead for mapping out their "battleground".

* * *

**A-N: Almost there! Two chapters to go! Not to worry though, I've posted a Broadchurch one surrounding the surgery, and have the makes of a new Sherlock story set. Thanks for sticking with me from In Whose Eyes? till now! Enjoy the chapter.  
Xin.**


	46. Black, Red, Pink, Yellow- What Next?

**Chapter 46**

* * *

_Sherlock cupped his arm around Molly's petite waists as they meandered through the small tables offering hors d'œuvre and apéritifs._

_"Tell me the room Molly. I must catch him tonight." He unfolded his red-tipped polished white cane awaiting her lead for mapping out their "battleground"._

* * *

The pink and bright red duo skillfully meandered through the entire place as 'His Eyes' fed a running stream of vivid descriptions on the guests, surroundings, and structures into his carefully attuned ear.

A little whisper of "there a small bush which makes for a great hideout," or "this corner is a great location for picking up voices clearly without looking like eavesdropping" made Sherlock snicker at Molly's crafty mind conjuring up a way to take in their target.

She had been influenced well. Sherlock smiled pleasingly.

They finished the walk in the antechamber adjacent to the dining hall just before the meal was announced, so Molly and Sherlock quickly took their place at the dinner table with rest of their party without attracting unwanted attention.

The dinner discussions were animated and quite interesting to say the least. The topic started out with the typical dull pleasantries and moaning about the rubbish weather, soon it furthered into likes and dislikes of tea, biscuits, all the standard British chatter.

_Well stereotypes had to start somewhere, and someone had to keep them running! _

But of course, with Sherlock around, events rarely unfolded in the proper manner. He soon became so engrossed in a detailed recantation of his previous case with an elephant in the room, a dwarf with a poison dart, and an invisible man. It was a bit unsettling for the other six guested seated with them; topics on cadavers and wild firefight chases were rather too much for them to stomach.

"Pardon me, but did you say you held the brain of Helen-Louise?" one of the green-faced guests asked timidly. It didn't go unnoticed that he stopped eating shortly after Sherlock started to take hold of the conversations.

"Yes, I did. In fact, Ms. Hooper right here performed the post-mortem examination. She's is quite the distinguished pathologist."

Mr Harrison paled around the gills considerably on hearing the consulting detective's excited response.

"It's was fascinating, upon further dissection of each lobe of the brain we were able to identify..." Sherlock continued enthusiastically, but Mary deftly cut him off before he could scare away the other dinners.

"Sherlock love, how about another time. Perhaps you'd like to visit with Mr. Enys here. He sitting at your 10 o'clock. An accomplished violinist just like you. I believe you two share similar interest in composers."

The seemingly harmless conversation about composers soon turned to a vicious battle between the baroque composers.

_Johannes Bach versus Antonio Vivaldi._

Both were notable composers and their music dotted through countless films of past and present. If a boring slow lift ever played music through its old and cracking speakers, it was probably Vivaldi's Spring from Four Seasons. Bach's Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 is arguably its most well recognised piece, perhaps even his signature one.

Sherlock retorted angrily, "Bach is about the greatest in musical thinking, construction and purity and logic, and Vivaldi is just 'go and play something trivial.'

"I beg your pardon sir!" Mr. Enys replied with indignation, "I'll have you know Vivaldi is one of the greatest violinist of his era. Have you heard of 'Ocean Storm'? It is a stunning piece filled with speed, agility, and a true showcase of technique. Bach wasn't even a violinist, but an organist! Imagine that! Preposterous. Vivaldi is clearly the better choice. I prefer his Four Seasons' Spring to the Brandenburg Concerto.

"If you're going to be wrong about something, then at least say it correctly!" Sherlock retorted with ferocity, "Bach wrote six pieces that are compiled together as the Brandenburg Concertos. It's plural. You uncultured fool! Six masterfully written concertos with elaborate techniques and melodies that are much superior than Vivaldi's C Major Concerto! That's not to mention a plethora of other genius compositions."

"You, sir, are the uncultured fool! How dare you say Bach's music is superior! Vivaldi is top quality and second to none." Mr. Enys became so riled, he dropped his cutlery on the expensive golden trimmed dinner plate making an embarrassingly loud clatter.

"So, Mrs. Enys, how do you find the evening? Do you dance?" Molly interjected whilst sending a hard elbow jab to her red suited companion. She bore the heel of her sparking pumps into his shin for extra measure since Sherlock still wouldn't close his mouth. Between Molly, Mary, and Mrs. Enys, the rest of dinner conversation seemed to flow at an easier pace with topics that didn't venture into offending anyones' opinion of music or whatever else it might have been.

* * *

The lavish five course meal left all feeling extremely content with the rich food sitting in their stomach's slowly digesting, though perhaps not quite as well as hoped for since the other guests were not accustomed to Sherlock's type of antics. It was to the pleasure of the three men knowing dancing would follow in the next hour.

_For heaven's sake no! It wasn't that they favoured dancing, although Sherlock begged to differ...suppose it is a moment to finally use his dancing skills in a case. Just as he had hoped for when dancing with Janine. Nasty creature she was. She and Kitty Riley would have a swell time together sabotaging his good name._

Rather, it was the prime moment to capture the criminals who had been leaving mysterious taunting notes. Those persons would face quite a lot of trouble for all the trouble caused. Firstly, threats of such nature were not taken lightly. Secondly, he and his accomplices managed to forge legal recording of monies, and blatantly lie about its whereabouts. When the three mousquetaires* poured over the accounts reports the other day back at the Yard, the discrepancies became obvious. The unreported funds were currently being channels to pay for illegal drugs and labour. It was a terrible use of honourable labour and resources. Pity that man's greed surpassed all else.

"Please ladies and gentlemen would you adjourn to the ballroom to enjoy the musical selection," the maître announced professionally.

"Splendid timing," Sherlock whispered to John who occupied the side that Molly didn't sit,"everything is going just as planned."

The guests rose and slowly trickled into the elegantly decorated room filled with lively dancing music provided by a world-renowned chambre ensemble. Molly saw her escort's expression turn to one of sheer delight when they heard the violin playing the solo part in the viennese waltz. He couldn't help but smirk a little on hearing a grumbling Mr. Enys complain on the choice of the ensemble's musical selection.

It was a waltz he oft played when in a state of complete contentment. As with most waltz, it was presented in 3/4 time with a gentle rhythm that allowed the Holmes-Hooper pair to dance entire room, mapping out the plan of action. Sherlock deftly spun his lady in graceful slow circles so she could discreetly eye the suspect's interaction with the target.

"Sherlock, I think I found him. He matched the estimated description you and John gave Mary and me earlier. Now what do we do?"

"We catch him, of course! Lead the way and I'll talk. Take my cues and in no time he will be led away in handcuffs." He chucked far too happy for any sane person, but then again he wasn't just anyone. Catching criminals were his forte, not the arrest- that was Lestrade's job.

Molly perched on his arm in the typical ladylike fashion which allowed her to glide easily between the other dancing couples until they made it to the rear side of the ballroom, which led down a narrow side hallway. It probably was used by the staff for serving food and drinks. The Watsons and Lestrade notice their companions' hasty, but nonchalant fancy footwork that took them away from the rest of the guests, so followed suit down the dimly lit hall.

By the time the rest of the party had joined in the small room, both target and criminal were cornered. Molly had already verbally shredded their physical appearances down to bones, allowing Sherlock to have a nearly accurate image in his mind, in which he (then quite harshly) verbally stripped the two offending persons of what was left of their dwindling dignity or self-preservation.

One man stood a bit under the height of Sherlock and his tall lanky appearance did mirror rather well. Both tall men had slicked back their unruly black curls to tuck safely underneath the band of their masque. The man hadn't spoken a word yet, merely stated intently at the alarming red figure before him. The ghastly shade of red and horrid masque made the tall criminal rather concerned for his safety and sanity, for it must have been the drinks he drank too many of and started to hallucinate of a devil-like figure before him. The alcohol ran wild with imagination, no thanks to Sherlock's peculiar taste in dress and opaque lenses. He quivered slightly when Sherlock loomed over him and handcuffed the man to a light fixture.

The second man resembled an over stretched balloon. Those polished onyx buttons of his waistcoat strained for dear life in trying to hold in his extremely rotund body. It was a comical appearance. His sans masque red puffy face embraced a full beard and curled whiskers in the same hue that blew upward every time he wheezed out a laboured breath.

With both men chained to furniture, Sherlock was shamelessly gloating for capturing the offending one and closing the case. He rattled on about how brilliant it was, and what an exciting chase it was to apprehend the two buffoons by dancing them to a corner. For once John couldn't scold Sherlock on his poor judgment on timing and the emotional well-being of others. Aptly dubbed Stick and Balloon, said criminals were being led away by the team Lestrade had called in to handle the situation. It would be a terrible shame to waste such a fine event with troublesome and tedious paperwork- especially since the company was just as fine. Thus, the spectacularly dressed party resumed the festivities with much more ease now their task was finished.

* * *

"Sherlock, you're going to tell me what happened." It wasn't a question John asked, rather it was an order to be obey at the first opportunity.

"Of course, John. Don't worry, you'll get the fun of it all too soon. Now, back to more pressing matters first. Molly?"

Molly took Sherlock back to the floor just in time for the down beat of the next dance. With grace and much skill, the duo skittered across the hardwood floor in such elaborate manners that made Molly's skirt billowed at the grandiose turnouts before resuming the natural dancing holds of ballroom dancing.

Gently outlining his face to look at her, Molly softly spoke, "You promised me a reason for why you have this appearance. Tell me now. The case is over."

"Very well, it is for two reasons. First, I wanted to be clearly visible for the target and intended criminal. It was crucial for the target to see me and draw out his enemy, that is why I wore red. Secondly, I know you favour this colour so wearing it will make you happy."

Following his lead to change directions in dancing, she did not sidetrack from the discussion, "Come now! You don't think you really needed to wear an appaling shade of red to be visible, do you? Your mere presence is quite obvious, nobody would mistake you for anything less than Sherlock Holmes. However, I do like this colour on you very much, suits you well. Black hair and a bold red- quite the appearance you have tonight. Now, what about these?" She fingered his eyelids closed. "Explanation."

After giving a quick peck to her cheek he responded solemnly, "They are contacts to change my eyes into appearing as black holes. Both literally and figuratively," his breath hitched ever so faintly with a slight jab of self-pity. A most rare quality of Sherlock's. She knew about the constant pain of unsaid words about his lack of sight. Though much time has past since he became legally blind, behind the stoic facade of pleasantries and jokes, the blindness still affected him deeply, "This is a masquerade Molly. I come tonight as Erik, you are my Christine. I know that is your favourite book."***

He moved his arms to cup her small waist whilst hers joined around his neck- it was the heels that made it possible for her to reach as so, "From our interactions tonight and whilst dancing, I conclude that your dress is a corset beaded bodice with a full skirt puffed out by many under layers and a petticoat. Your shoulders are semi-bare, only a capped sleeves covers them when your arms are poised for me to spin you. I'm assume it's a small V-cut form neckline studded in small rhinestones which occasionally pricked me when we danced. The bow you mentioned earlier, I would agree with you. It is too large and I don't think it suits the design well. You say it's pink, then I'm sure the colour wasn't your choice entirely. Mary must have influenced your decision, I must praise her for that, or you might have shown up in an alarming bright shade of yellow. Wouldn't that be a laugh. Red and yellow amidst a sea of dull boring colours." Molly placed his hand around her neck so he could confirm what he had already deduced correctly.

"Sherlock! Be nice. I said you looked good in red, merely meant it wasn't entirely appropriate for this occasion. There's nothing wrong with yellow I'll have you know. It is a lovely colour. Bright and cheery, just like red. Nevertheless, you are correct, Erik, since you say I'm now Christine. There now, it was more enjoyable for you to deduce it than have me describe it aloud. Correct?" He nodded smugly. " Now that this is done and over, please don't wear those again. I'd much rather your beautiful natural eye colour than that horrid blackness. Will you go take them off now? Come, I'll get John to take you to the washroom."

"For you Molly," he held her arm as they traversed the room slowly to the rhythm of the music looking for the Watsons, "I should not feel any remorse or second thoughts if I lost my remaining sight, or simply did not have eyeballs. Of course, I'd rather not take either of those options, but you should know it is not of a visual means that pleases me. I am far above that level of simplistic thinking. My Mind Palace is built solely on what I envision. Now, with you and John seeing for me, I am content with just about everything." Sherlock paused for a moment in thought, in the span of a few seconds the human side of the man disappeared into a mischievous child. "What do you think of blue irises? Do you think I would look good with them? Much more favourable than black I would assume."

"Cheeky sod! Goodness Sherlock! Just leave it alone. Now, here's John." She handed him off, "Go with him and when you return I want to see YOUR natural eyes. No lenses, and definitely no blue. Understood? Please see that he does, John." Molly answered curtly and sought for her ally.

* * *

**A-N: One more to go! Many thanks to all of the wonderful people who read this and ones who wrote comments. You're very lovely.  
To Guest commentator: Thank you so very much! Your words are so kind. Please message me if you have an account and see my bio page for more stories.**

*****inspired by the wonderful book "Le Fantôme d'Opéra" (Phantom of the Opera) written by Gaston Leroux and the Lloyd-Weber film adaptation. In the book Phantom is named Erik, something I think the film should have included. Do read and watch both, they're very good. At the masquerade, he is known as Red Death. Erik's visage is malformed and scarred from birth, thus lacking a defined nose and ear shapes. His eyeballs are sunken deep into the head, so the only visible part of his eyes are the two black eye sockets. Despite their poor formation, he has excellent vision. A masterful composer he is.**


	47. Drastic Changes

**Chapter 47**

* * *

_"So...any chance you're going to tell me what that was all about?" John pushed on whilst leaning against the sink next to where Sherlock stood and waited for said man to fix himself properly._

_"Not a chance, but use your brain and make a deduction, Watson. It surely isn't that complicated to understand." He sarcastically fired back with much annoyance. They were only colour-changing lenses, as to why everyone was making a huge ordeal of it was beyond the scope of the genius' brain._

"Alright, I'll have a go then. You and Molly were dancing and she asked you about your hideous choice of clothes. I'd even wager it was probably the third or fourth time at least. As for your ingenious idea to change your eyes made her quite upset, and to quote you, you ARE the 'uncultured fool', that was a poor choice on your part."

"My clothes are not hideous John. Do try an act like a gentleman tonight, I know it's really hard for you, but at least attempting to would be at least considered borderline decent. Still, you're not half bad, you do know how powers of deduction work. I'm impressed. Do you have something I can store these in?" Sherlock looked at John with his natural colouring and held out the offending lenses.

"No Sherlock," he took them, "I'm throwing them away. You won't be needing theses ever again. Besides, I'm much more the gentleman than you are," Sherlock pouted but remained silent.

Upon leaving the toilets to rejoin with the rest of their party, Mr. Enys and Sherlock crossed paths. To whose misfortune it was to meet again so unexpectedly it was hard to say. John had barely a moment's notice before he had to physically restrain Sherlock from clocking the other gentleman in the face. Apparently music was a dangerous topic for Sherlock, normal ordinary people wouldn't think of something so enjoyable to turn so violent or become heated discussions. It was nice for the consulting detective to find passion in his interests, but he took it too far.

"Leave it be! You've got better things to do," John hissed into the grown child's ear. "For example, I spy one pregant wife storming toward us and one pathologist right on her heels. Shape up and be civil because you know Mary is not shy when it comes to scolding."

Immediately Sherlock transformed himself into the ideal gentleman with all the good graces attached it. He waited until the two pairs of storming three inch heels stopped right in front of him.

"Mary dear, have I told you how splendid you look tonight? John tells me your dress is a unique colour and glistens under the chandeliers' crystal lighting. Brings out the pregnant glow, isn't that right John?" He nodded to the husband and wife hoping for a positive reaction to his attempt of flattery.

"Oh no Sherlock. Sweet talking your way about my dress won't work for me, you know that. Besides, it is all thanks to Big Brother's pocketbook for letting us dress up fancy. I saw what happened just a moment ago. Don't let it happen again." She threatened then drew the man lower to her height and whispered only loud enough for Sherlock to make it out.

His face broke upon hearing her words, thankfully the white masque covered most of his face, save for the eyes. Though those cerulean orbs were sightless, nonetheless they did not lack in expression at all. In fact, it might have seemed to be even more filled with something the stoic man fought hard to keep from showing. Sentiment. Sherlock's eyes were kind. Almost wishful think? Perhaps contentment?

_What kind of power Mary's words had on him!_

"Come now Sherlock, you promised me a dance. We'll be right under the chandelier light and you can sweet talk all you want about my dress then." Mary led them to the centre of the shinning hardwood floor and stood right under the dancing beams of the perfectly cut crystals.

"How do you find the evening Mr. Holmes?" Mary purred into his ears as a slow ballad sent them swaying in slow circles.

"Rather nice Mrs. Watson," Sherlock replied with a lopsided smile, "This evening end quite well with taking down the two key figures of the whole fiasco with notes and threats. Scotland Yard is such an imbecile at times, but tonight I think they're marginally tolerable."

He paused, averted his gaze to the freshly waxed floor and whispered, "Mary, did you really mean it?"

"Yes. Sherlock. I meant it. Molly told me everything about your choice of dress tonight and why too. I know you chose to dress like that partly to please her, but more so to comfort yourself. The uncustomary red suit is lavish, draws attention to the obvious. The white masque which covers almost your entire face suits the function well. A masque is meant to hide, and you hid what you don't want known forthrightly by making it blend into the shadows. Whatever you say love. Now let's go back to John before he throws a hissy fit because I left him alone." Sherlock conceded to her request, but soon found himself back under the chandelier's radiance with his arms wrapped another lady. A lady pretty in pink.

-0-

As the evening wound down to a close, the party soon returned to Baker Street via the hired limousine. The ride took longer than usual, but Sherlock didn't make a fuss of it. He knew it was only Mycroft meddling with the timer on the intersection lights. All but one of the passengers were adequately filled their choice of liquid courage, said drinks made for some interesting conversations. Topics flowed freely from serious ones to very silly ones- everything was out in the open. Thankfully it was not a repeat of John's stag night wild adventure, but the three men were enjoying themselves immensely. Lestrade was more than happy to be a part of the joyous occasion instead of having to square things with the desk sergeant for nabbing those two wimpy light-weights who couldn't make it to closing time.

"Remember that time you locked yourself in the closet of the client's house Sherlock?" John began with a punch to said man's shoulder. "It was such a a joke. You screamed like a little girl! Lestrade and I had to break off the lock to get you out." Lestrade fell out laughing whilst Sherlock jabbed in his side sharply causing the silver-haired comparison to return the favour.

"It wasn't that hilarious. Your memory of the event is incorrect. I have a perfect recollection of the sequence. It was precisely two years and three months ago when it happened. John later called it the case of the "Invisible Client". Poor choice in title, might I add in. The case started out with a certain aspect that later I found to be quite interesting because..."

"Yea. Yea. Here. Have another. I'll do you good and keep you quiet." John pressed a cold fresh glass into Sherlock's hands. "Now drink and enjoy the evening."

Enjoy the evening they all certainly did. A unforgettable night.

* * *

Finally arriving back to the flat, all climbed out of the limousine less than gracefully and headed straight for a seat in the sitting room. True to her motherly nature, Mrs Hudson walked in balancing a tray of biscuits and freshly brewed tea just as the company made themselves comfy sprawled out on the various pieces of furniture.

"So lovelies, tell me about you evening. I want to hear it all and don't even think about leaving any details out."

With their cognitive not up to par, everyone began speaking at once, telling their own version of the grand night's events.

"Children," Mother gently chided, "One at at time. Don't worry, I'll be here to listen to every bit you will share with me. Now, who first?"

The recantation was even more vivid than the actual event itself, it may due in part to emotions running high and Sherlock's flair for the dramatics.

_I am not a drama queen, John!_

When the sun threw its first beams across the horizon, everything at Baker Street was still a lively chatter. No one had the heart to sleep and miss out on the fun and games, or the endless supply of fresh tea and delicious digestives. Sherlock captivated his eager audience with a newly composed piece he wrote in anticipation for the newest Watson member to join the family. Mary, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson traded baking secrets and ideas to decorate the flat into a nursery whilst Sherlock, John, and Lestrade huddled around the fire with hot teacups trying to comfort the father-to-be of all his incessant worries.

"Don't worry John. Your little spawn will be the brightest of his peers, of that I have full confidence in. I shall teach the child Braille, how to compose music and play the violin, master the various techniques of martial arts when he encounters criminals, and excel in science and foreign tongues. I have everything under control, except the daily chores -those are your responsibility. Now, would you rather we start with Braille or foreign languages? I personally favour the former, it's much easier to build a basis with an existing foundation, but if you..."

"Sherlock," John laid a hand on his friend's forearm, "Sherlock. Hush. Just hush for a moment so I can speak. Ok? Good. While I'm thrilled at the prospect of my child to come soon, don't ever use the word 'spawn' again. Ever! Understood?" Sherlock nodded curtly. "Secondly, thank you for having everything all planned out, but I really would think best if our child wouldn't start learning martial arts and advance science until a bit older. He or she will not be helping you chase after criminals. Definitely not going to happen at all."

"But John! Surely it's never too young to start learning languages. Braille is an excellent starting point, it introduces fine motor skills and refining tactile abilities. Additionally, learning a language with either High Germanic or Low Germanic roots will help solidify the concept of the English language, after all, English is a hodgepodge of different European roots. Therefore, Braille and becoming multilingual should be top priority within the first five year of your spw-...I mean child's life."

While John and Lestrade understood and admired Sherlock's emphasis for learning Braille, they both knew it was a mask for his nervousness. The new child made him act even stranger than folding Sydney Opera House out of cloth serviettes, but he was surprisingly taking it all in stride.

Only until after the birth would everyone finally realise the drastic impact a little one would be. Especially to Sherlock.

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for keeping up from the very first chapter of In Whose Eyes? to this last chapter. I hope you've found something enjoyable along the way, and perhaps you'll read more in the future. Many thanks to everyone! **

**Codename penguin and VesperL2: Your unfailing support and timely advice are invaluable. Thank you. **

**Xin.**


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